


Dark Gray

by colormyheartred



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emma and Henry aren't related, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Lighthouse Keeper
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:52:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 36,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8778448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/colormyheartred/pseuds/colormyheartred
Summary: Killian operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> an: this is something I've had in my documents for a long time and since it's almost completely done, I've decided to start posting chapters for my sweet, completely excited friend Meagan. :)

One

He slams the front door closed and it squeaks on it’s hinges, swinging and clattering against it’s cracked and broken frame.

The air is cold and he shoves his fist into his jacket pocket, straightening his gaze ahead of him with a white huff of air to mingle with the fog that has descended onto the island. 

His boots crunch on the rocks as he carries himself onward and he takes note of all the things he has in store for his day. It isn’t much, never is, and he curses his sailor’s blood for the ungodly hours.

The ground is still damp from last night’s storm and the air still smells of it. It had been an unruly thing, the storm, and he’d woken several times at the sound of lightning spiking nearby.

As he walks toward the lighthouse, he shifts his gaze to the ocean that’s lapping up against the shore nearby. The water sprays at him and he grits his teeth, breathing in deep the salty air.

He narrows his eyes and stops dead in his tracks the instant he notices a lump lying at the shore, the foaming water washing over it every few moments.

He stares at it a moment longer, then shifts his gaze a little further up the shore to a brown basket nestled in seaweed and wet sand. His brow furrows slightly and his hand pulls free from his jacket so he can comb through his hair nervously.

He starts for the two washed up lumps quickly, breaths coming out in nervous, shaking huffs, and when he reaches the blue lump, he kneels down beside it. It’s a woman.

She’s a few years his junior with blonde hair, and when he examines her, she’s breathing, though she’s passed out cold. She has blood oozing from a wound in her forehead and he’s sure something’s wrong with her leg, because it’s twisted obscurely.

He winces a little, unsure of what to do, and he’s about to stand and lift her over his shoulder to help her when a high-pitched squeaking and crying emanates from a little further down the beach from the brown basket.

He rises slowly, cursing under his breath as he makes his way toward it.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, looking down at the basket.

There is a baby, not a _small_ baby, but a baby nonetheless, lying inside, wrapped tight in a blanket, squirming and crying. It’s cheeks are red and it looks absolutely miserable.

He can’t blame him. A day like today leaves much to be desired.

Killian Jones crouches down beside the child and holds out his arms, glaring at his hook for a left hand, then, with a shake of his head, he reaches in and carefully lifts the child into the crook of his arm.

He finds himself at a loss for words. Having never held a screaming baby before in his entire life, he hasn’t a clue of what to do. He bites his tongue and grimaces.

“Quiet down,” he tries, “You’ll get nowhere crying like that.”

The child, miraculously, stops.

Killian sighs, then hesitantly thumbs at the baby’s soft cheek. “Let’s get you inside, then. Can’t have you out to freeze, hm?”

He stands again, reaching down for the basket with his hand before turning to trudge back to his residence. He looks at the woman with a sad expression, worry finding his brow.

Since she’s out of it, she can wait until he’s settled the child down. He thinks he knows better than to leave such a small human being out in the cold of the morning with no nourishment and comfort.

The baby squirms in his hold and he winces, because it isn’t as if he has a firm hold on the fragile being, and he hurries to get back inside. He pulls the door open with his index finger and it slams behind him loud enough that it makes the child cry again. He starts hushing it as he sets the basket on the table in his kitchen, knocking over a bottle of beer from last night in the process.

He doesn’t bother to clean up his mess, deciding to take the child into the small living room off of the kitchen where he builds a cradle of sorts out of blankets and pillows he can find.

He settles the fussing child down into the center of the mess and goes to stoke at the fire that’s dying out in the fireplace. When it’s warming up, he goes into the kitchen for milk. He thinks that’s what babies eat, right?

He isn’t sure if it should be cold or warm and hesitates with the milk glass for a few moments, struggling to even find something to use that will feed the child. He decides on using a cleaned beer bottle for the time being and warms up the milk in the microwave in a bowl before pouring it into the bottle and carrying it into the living room.

“Here we are,” he says gruffly, setting himself down next to the lump in his couch. He only has one hand, so he awkwardly shifts the baby and uses his thumb to cut off the flow as he settles the lip against the child’s mouth. “In we go. You’re hungry, aye?”

It takes a few moments and some of the milk dribbles out on the baby’s chin, but eventually, all of the milk goes straight into the hungry child’s stomach, the baby’s eyes shutting as it continues to suckle.

Killian figures he’ll have to find something to use as diaper cloths. He’ll do that after bringing the woman inside.

It’s a mystery to him _how_ two people could wash up on this bloody isolated island. It’s not even in a shipping lane and ships rarely come along- only for his monthly supply shipments. His lighthouse isn’t even that useful, but he’s stuck here and he isn’t about to leave this place he’s grown so accustomed to.

After the boy finishes the milk, Killian puts the beer bottle on the floor and looks down at the child with a furrowed brow. He hasn’t spent nearly enough time around children to know what to do with him now that he’s eaten, and Killian sighs as he decides to strip him of the damp blanket and outfit he’s sporting.

Killian tucks the boy into the pillows and blankets again, covering him up so he’s warm, and then carries the wet and cold items over to the fire, hanging them to dry.

With one final check on the sleepy child, he nods to himself and zips up his coat to go grab the mystery woman.

He isn’t a horrible man. He likes to think himself rather good on his better days. But he isn’t a man who enjoys the company of others. In fact, one of the reasons he’s still on this island is because he can’t stand himself around others. He can’t _trust_ himself around others.

Killian takes a sharp breath of the cold air and lets it back out of his nose, eyes set determinedly on the blue and yellow lump on the shore. When he reaches her, he sighs, squeezing and releasing his hand before leaning down to scoop her up and onto his shoulder. He’s careful with his hook and he grunts a bit when her weight is added to him. She’s not very heavy, but he’s not used to carrying much weight, so he is quick when he makes his way back to his home.

When the door squeaks and whines as he opens it, she shifts a little and he bites his tongue when the door slams behind him. He moves with expertise to his bedroom and settles her down on his bed, her head on his pillow.

She’s soaked and her blonde locks fan out around her head, some of the strands sticking to her peaceful cheeks and forehead. She’s still blissfully unaware of anything that’s happened, so Killian hesitates for a moment longer before deciding to start the fire in his room.

As soon as the flames breathe warmth into the small room, he goes to the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulls out blankets to cover her with.

He decides that he should take her dress off to avoid hypothermia, so he takes a deep breath, leaves the blankets at her feet, and sets to peeling the wet article from her flesh.

Luckily for him, she’s out cold enough that she doesn’t wake as he’s taking her britches off, and he purposefully covers her private places with blankets before he goes to find her something of his to wear in place of her dress while it dries.

It’s been a long time since he’s been in the presence of a woman, much less a naked one, and he is glad he isn’t nearly as tempted as he could be in this situation. He can’t deal with people.

He puts a long sleeved shirt over her top and a pair of loose-fitting pants over her bottom, then slides a pair of socks over her feet and covers her with three blankets, ensuring her entire body is tucked safely and securely beneath them.

Her body is _so_ cold and her teeth are chattering.

In the process of slipping the pants on, he’d noticed bruising around her right knee and his thoughts easily drift to wondering what could’ve happened to her, but he can’t know until she wakes, so he stores his curiosity and continues to ensure she’s sufficiently warmed.

He figures he’ll have to tend to her wounds later when she’s awake and can tell him more and decides to go check on the child instead while she sleeps. Killian leaves his bedroom after draping the woman’s clothes over the fire to dry. His boots clump along the hardwood floor noisily and he sighs as he settles onto the couch beside the sleeping babe.

If there was anything he’d imagined his day as being like, it wasn’t this.

He was supposed to check on the lightbulbs and make note of what needed fixing after the storm, get started on the list, and then drink himself to sleep after a supper of whatever he might scrounge up.

He isn’t sure he can just leave the child and the woman here, not when they might wake up at any moment, so he watches the tiny being as he breathes before nodding in affirmation and carrying the tentative baby bottle into the kitchen.

Killian goes about fixing a stew from what he’s got in the pantry and figures a way to feed the child with things in his cabinets.

He’s sure the woman will be quick to mother him. Perhaps the child belongs to her- he isn’t sure.

And anyway, he won’t be stuck with them for very long. Just four weeks before the supply ship comes and he’ll send them out and away from him again. He’ll just have to deal with them in the meanwhile.

He settles back against the cabinets as the stew cooks on the stove, thinking about what he’ll do about sleeping arrangements for the coming few weeks, when he hears the child erupt into a screaming cry.

He springs to work, grabbing the already heated milk from the stovetop and bringing the new bottle with him so he can comfort the infant if it’s what it needs.

Killian sits beside the lump of blankets and pillows and lifts the child, whose fussing comes to hiccups as he settles him into his arms.

He frowns at the baby. “’s that all?” Killian mutters, quirking a brow.

He doesn’t enjoy holding the child. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and it reminds him all too much of a past he’d very much like to forget, so he sets the boy down again and is greeted by his wails once more.

He growls a little, shaking his head.

“You don’t understand,” Killian says sternly. “I can’t hold you.”

For a moment, they’re sitting there in a stare-off of sorts, and Killian locks his jaw, shaking his head again before opening his mouth to reprimand the shrieking child when his bedroom door opens.

His gaze shifts immediately to the woman, who looks pale and sickly, leaning against the doorjamb. He stands, holding his arms out as she staggers a little.

She swallows and opens her mouth, looking down at the screaming bundle of flailing limbs on the couch.

Killian hastily lifts the boy into his hold to quiet him again and it works. It’s overwhelming to hear his cries, to say the least, and when he moves to go to her, she follows him with her emerald eyes.

“Where am I?” she asks, voice wavering.

He shakes his head. “Don’t worry yourself with that. You need to get back into bed.”

Killian sets the child down with a wince of anticipation, receiving what he prepared for when the babe bursts out in upset. He herds the woman back into the room and watches her cautiously as she limps back to the bed.

She groans and pain creases her forehead when she lies back down. “I heard- crying.”

He nods and somehow tucks her back in under the blankets.

“Aye. Apologies. The child appears to have quite the set of lungs.” She blinks a few times and he finds himself without words. “Is he… um, yours?”

The woman shakes her head, wincing a little. “No.” Killian runs his eyes down to the base of the bed and shakes his head again, a sigh slipping from his lips at the development. He looks back to her face. “I’m Emma.”

Killian hesitates, shifting a bit on his feet while he examines her sick face. He doesn’t know what to do about her. She’s clearly running a fever and it’s not like he can force her to rest if she doesn’t want to. “Emma, why don’t you get some sleep? You don’t look well.”

She scoffs, closing her eyes. “There was a storm and I fell from the top deck of the ship and I think I broke my leg.”

She winces, then reaches down to pull the blankets away- bloody maddening woman. She examines the leg with pain written in her features and he mentally groans, because he certainly is no doctor and she’s stranded here with him for another few weeks.

“I could… try and set it,” he tells her quietly. Her gaze flits over to him and he sees apprehension in those solid green eyes. “I set many a bone in my time in the navy.”

She studies him for a second before falling back with a loud sigh.

“Fine.”

He eyes her warily, unmoving.

From the other room, the child is still screeching and sobbing and it’s making his blood boil angrily, because he is no longer on his own. He no longer has the stability and security of being by himself. He has two people, two _needy_ people, that he’s responsible for.

In all of his time as caretaker of the lighthouse, it’s been task after task and menial chores, followed by drinking and television- if the damn satellite worked.

It gets lonely, but he’s better that way. He can’t hurt anyone if he’s by himself.

As his hand settles against her bared leg, he searches for the break. He gives her no warning, which in hindsight was a bloody awful idea, and she screams when he sets the bone with a loud crack.

Two screaming strangers in his tiny home on an island in the middle of nowhere. Bloody perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

Two

The second time she wakes in an unfamiliar bed, it hurts a hell of a lot more than it had the first time, which seems like it wouldn’t be the case, but it is.

The room is dark with the exception of the warm orange glow of the fire and instead of the screaming child, she hears only the fire crackling timidly. Emma sighs as she tosses her head to the side.

She supposes that she should be grateful that someone was able to help her, that she isn’t forced to deal with a broken leg and scarring in her forehead or the residual chills from nearly drowning in a freezing sea in the middle of a storm.

But her rescuer is no Prince Charming. Far from it actually. The guy is almost as cold as the ocean and he’s freakishly dark and terrifying.

Taking a deep breath, Emma pushes herself up into sitting position to examine her knee. He’d set it and the bruising is still there, but the bandage he’d wrapped around it to keep it in place covers most of the damage she’d seen for a few fractions of a second here or there.

Emma whips the blankets off of her and gets out of the bed, her feet sliding as they hit the hardwood floors.

She looks down at the outfit she’s been dressed in, musing over how large and baggy they are, and after a glance around the room, she discovers her wet clothes still drying over the fire.

Emma forces herself to go to the fire so she can inspect the articles hanging above the heat. Crinkling her nose, she decides to keep the sagging clothes on instead, wrapping her arms over her chest protectively. She’s a little perturbed that he’d re-dressed her, that _he’d_ seen her bare. Chills run down her spine at the mere idea.

With determination in her step, Emma opens the door, and walks out in time to hear shattering glass and a hiss, followed by, “Bloody hell!”

She walks cautiously, glancing around the room.

It’s quaint, very small. There’s a tiny television sitting on a wooden stand across from the sofa. One wall is built with bookshelves installed inside and is full of literature. The fire is beside the television and there is also a lamp that provides low light to the sofa atop of a side table. The floor is covered in a foreign looking rug, one that might have been made by native culture, and she bites her lip as she considers _where_ exactly the boat had thrown her off to.

They’d been on their way home to Maine, back from a trip to England, and the storm had been a mysterious surprise in the middle of nowhere. The ship may have gone down, she isn’t sure. All she knows is that she was thrust off and found something to hold onto before she fell unconscious.

On the sofa, she discovers a pile of strategically placed pillows and blankets surrounding a lump that upon closer examination is a child. She frowns at the sight of him. While he is asleep, he doesn’t look very comfortable.

Emma glances over to the open doorway to where she supposes the kitchen must be, for that is where her Savior is cursing himself out in low tones.

The child stirs in his sleep and fusses, pulling at her heartstrings so that she leans in and lifts him to her chest, shushing him softly with a finger to his cheek.

Emma smiles a little, because growing up she’d always wanted a little baby brother or sister to play with, but her parents weren’t fertile and they didn’t want to adopt again, thinking she was more than enough for them.

Emma isn’t sure where this little guy came from. She doesn’t think there was a baby on the ship, but then again, she’d been kind of absorbed in worry about what she’d say to Neal come her return to Storybrooke.

She hears the clatter of boots on the floor at an ever-loudening pace and glances up from the child when they stop. He is standing at the door frame with a beer bottle in his hand, a tired look on his face that shifts slightly into confusion at the sight of her.

Emma opens her mouth for a moment considering what she should say before he speaks, gesturing to her with the hand holding the bottle, “You shouldn’t be up on that leg.”

Emma sighs and sinks down onto the couch with a sigh. “Better?”

His jaw clenches and he doesn’t look happy with her, staying in the door frame for a moment longer before stepping into the room.

“Here. Milk for the child.”

She stares at him with narrowed eyes before yanking the beer bottle from him. “I’m not here to be a nursemaid for some kid that you don’t want to take care of. I don’t know where he came from just as much as you.”

The man gives her a thin smile as he lifts his eyebrows. “Well, I don’t see his parents anywhere near here, so you’ll do.”

Emma gapes at him for a moment. “Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I’m naturally maternal.”

“And just because I’ve brought you into my home that doesn’t mean I’m friendly.”

She glares at him and he at her, anger in his tone when he speaks. He pinches up a fake smile and drops it as he storms out of the room again.

Emma rolls her eyes as she fiddles with the beer bottle in her hand, furious that she’s even here. She’ll have to leave first thing in the morning, get on a boat back to America and figure out whether or not her parents made it back yet.

She struggles to feed the child for a moment, because the hole doesn’t work with feeding a baby, but she adapts, pressing her thumb over the hole just enough that he can access the fluid easily. She listens to him as he eats and watches for signs of his being finished, and when he is, she sets the bottle down on the floor and pulls him up to burp him.

The boots come charging back into the room and she shoots her eyes up to meet the dark blues that are the man’s.

“I’ll be out of your hair in the morning,” she tells him.

He stares at her silently for a few long moments and shakes his head.

“Next ship to come through here isn’t for four weeks.” Emma furrows her brow, about to ask one of the hundred questions on the tip of her tongue, but he interrupts, “Small island in the middle of nowhere, love. I’m afraid we’re stuck with each other until Smee comes with supplies.”

She wants to scream, because, well, he is the worst person she’s ever met, and apparently he has very little respect for her outside of the fact that he wants to help her not _die_.

Her eyes go wide at his statement and she watches him as he crosses the room to put a bowl of something on the side table under the sickly orange glow of the lamp. The spoon in the bowl clatters upon being set down and she glares when he steps back to look at her.

“I feel some ground rules shall be important,” he tells her, eyeing her warily.

Emma scoffs. “Ground rules, really? I’m twenty-three, not thirteen.”

He gives her that tight, mocking smile again and crouches down in front of her in the most demeaning way.

The baby gurgles out puke onto her and she doesn’t care, because it’s _his_ shirt and she’ll just change in a few minutes. Or maybe she’ll wear it and smell up his living room for a while. She lowers the child into her arms as he speaks.

“Rule number one. You will care for the child for as long as we’re stuck together.”

She gapes at him for a second and shakes her head. “Woah there, buddy. I told you I don’t do kids.”

He lifts his eyebrows as if challenging her and she copies him, but he doesn’t break.

Emma sighs heavily. “Fine. If you’re not going to take care of him.” She looks down at the bundle in her arms. “I don’t think we should call him _kid_ or whatever, though. He needs a name. That’s my stipulation if you’re going to make me take care of him.”

She watches the man before her and he pulls his teeth over his lower lip for a moment.

“Okay. What do you suggest?”

Emma wants to make _him_ name the kid, but she realizes as she opens her mouth to complain that he would probably pick something ridiculous and she would end up naming it anyway. She looks back down at the baby and examines him.

“Henry.” She looks back at him. “He looks like one at least.”

The man nods. “Alright, Henry it is.”

“You need to tell me your name, too.” He stares at her with his lips pressed into a thin line. “I told you mine. He has one.” Emma narrows her eyes. “Give me yours so I know which name to avoid for the rest of my life.”

He chuckles darkly at her.

“Killian Jones,” he says. “A pleasure.” She rolls her eyes at the tone of his voice. “Rule number two: I have my set of tasks and chores and I will not be interrupted for any reason.”

“Fine by me.” Emma sighs.

Killian glances down at the floor. “You will sleep here, with Henry. There will be no complaining or whining of any sort and you will stay here at all times. No venturing out onto the island on your own. Especially with that leg.”

He gestures to her and she sighs.

“Okay, fine. Anything else you want to enforce, Captain _Hook_?”

He stares at her, gritting his teeth, and he gives his head a shake. “Keep out of my way and I think we’ll be just fine for these four weeks.”

She watches him, hand and hook, stand again, and she thinks for a moment that she’s won something in the way he’s moving out of the room with a vicious sort of walk.

It might be easier to loathe him if he weren’t so ruggedly handsome.

She sighs as she looks down at Henry, giving him a tiny smile when he babbles a little bit. He does have a cute face and she kind of likes him, regardless of what she might have thought otherwise before.

Emma doesn’t know what to do with Henry, so she just leaves him in his pile of pillows while she tries to figure out what the bowl and spoon Killian had set down for her are.

It’s stew, she thinks, stirring the spoon around and taking a breath of it. She decides that she’s too hungry to protest his attempt at potentially poisoning her and inhales her food, listening to him slam things around in the kitchen.

She sighs because she realizes that he must have his whole little world here if he lives by himself on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere.

She gets that he has a _deal_ , because everyone always has a deal, in her experience. Hell, she has a deal. She doesn’t like anyone getting close to her because if they do, she’s afraid she’ll hurt them, or they’ll hurt her, and she cannot let that happen.

After she finishes the stew that tastes more like a can that it probably came from than anything else, she sets the bowl down on the table again and winces as she pulls herself up to go change clothes.

She discovers a shirt in the dresser of his room and throws the first thing she can find over her head, disregarding the dirtied shirt on top of the dresser for him to deal with. She takes the blanket and carries it with her to the sofa, where she turns the light off and somehow gets into a comfortable position with Henry at her feet.

She shuts her eyes and takes a deep breath, listening as Killian Jones sits down at what must be a table in the kitchen, the chair making a loud screeching against the floor. He sighs and she hears a click, probably a beer, before the definite sound of him taking a sip. Obnoxious man.

How she’ll ever last four weeks with him is a mystery she isn’t sure she’s going to be able to live long enough to find out.

///

Killian sighs heavily as he pushes open the door to his lighthouse. It’s on, the sweeping light blasting it’s beams across the water and cutting through the foggy night, but he’s not here to tend to the light that cuts through the darkness.

He has a desk that he sits at with a beer in hand. The radio sits on the desk and Killian bites on his lower lip as he stares at it.

His supplies are running low and even with his emergency stashes of food and water, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep them all alive for four weeks.

Killian likes to think he knows right from wrong and that’s why he’s staring at his radio now. Within a few minutes, he could have Mister Smee well on his way toward him with blankets and a plan for them to return to whence they came.

He grabs the radio and presses a few buttons. He summons the courage to radio out with his heart surprisingly racing.

He gets no reply.

Killian sighs and sits back in his chair. He takes his fingers through his hair and stares at the device. He needs them gone. He can’t keep them here.

He calls again. And again. And again.

Nothing.

In an instant, Killian is filled with rage. He throws the radio across the room, shattering it completely.

With a heaving chest, he realizes his fault and tears burn behind his eyes as he tugs open the lower drawer of his desk for the rum. He needs something just a little bit stronger if he’s going to make it through the night.


	3. Chapter 3

Three

When Emma Swan wakes up, it is to the sound of a door slamming shut.

She bolts upright on the couch and her eyes are wide, her heart racing with confusion and fear, before she realizes that it is the morning and that her one-handed friend must have just left the tiny house to start his _chores._

She sighs as she sits there, contemplating lying back down and sleeping for a while longer, but then she chooses to get up and search for the bathroom instead.

Logically, she searches the bedroom first, but finds nothing but piles of things lying where she swears they hadn’t been the night before.

On a groan, she starts limping her way back through the living room, where she realizes that the man whose distorted version of kindness she’s taking advantage of is living in filth.

There is trash everywhere and things aren’t exactly in tip-top shape for a Navy Man, so she wonders with twisted lips as she walks through the kitchen that is a disaster area, if he just doesn’t clean. It’s weird, because if she lived alone, she would definitely want something to keep her sane, like keeping her place clean.

There are flies swarming an overflowing trash can in the kitchen by the front door and there are scuff marks everywhere from his boots, which makes her roll her eyes. If he’d just pick up his feet, the floor would be less of a tragedy than it is.

She finds the bathroom, a tiny little thing, tucked back by the kitchen table, which is cluttered in dishes, beer bottles, and piles of notebooks and papers. When she opens the door, she is overwhelmed by the scent of grime and scrunches her nose as she manages to drop the toilet lid.

Emma examines the little room as she stands there, wincing at what looks like the start of mold on the wall of the shower, and she discovers a colony of ants that are nonsensically marching their way along the crumbling molding.

This man lives in a pigsty and she is being forced to share it with him for four weeks. _Great._

After she discovers that he doesn’t have any soap and that the water only runs cold in the sink, she pulls open the squealing door and studies the rest of his kitchen and pantry.

She finds that the ants continue to march into the storeroom, where he’s left some food haphazardly spilt on the floor. She huffs and shakes her head, then goes to see if he has any cleaning supplies tucked away anywhere.

Emma discovers that he does have _some_ cleaning supplies, but they appear to have never been touched or even considered as useful. They’re crammed into portion of the storeroom behind light bulbs and barrels of water and she has to work at it to grab them. She’s lucky he has a vacuum cleaner, but she doubts it would work without the cord that has clearly been cut off for some reason.

She looks through the shelves of food and finds that there isn’t much here. She figures he must have an emergency stash somewhere, and she decides she’ll ask him about it later. If they’re going to be stuck here together for a month, she’s not going to be the one that suffers because they don’t have enough to eat.

On her way back toward the living room where Henry’s silence indicates he’s sleeping, Emma stares at the bathroom door, at the paint chipped walls, and the ants marching along the cracked crown molding.

Almost compulsively, she goes to work cleaning the house right away.

She starts in that disgusting mess of a bathroom and scrubs every surface until she is satisfied that she won’t contract a disease if she were to visit it again and it smells like cleaning solution, a clear sign that it has been sanitized.

If her mother were here, she probably wouldn’t believe that Emma Swan would ever risk another injury while nursing one already in order to scrub behind the dusty, grimy toilet base.

Her leg is in a lot of pain by the time she finishes tidying up the kitchen and storeroom, so after wiping the dust off of the shelves of the bookshelves in the living room, Emma tends to Henry and then lies down again.

Killian hasn’t returned yet, which is probably for the best, and she closes her eyes with the duster still in her hand.

When she opens her eyes again, it’s because Henry starts fussing. It doesn’t feel like it’s been long enough for her to have slept long at all and she begins to understand why her parents only wanted one child.

She immediately goes to help and soothe him, taking him into her arms with a slight struggle. His cries almost offend her. Emma definitely hasn’t spent enough time around children to know what to do, but she figures she should fix him something to eat.

It’s much nicer with the room clean and the trash taken out. She can actually make out what is where and the smell isn’t overwhelmingly rank.

She’d discarded all of the garbage to the back of the house in what appeared to be a landfill-type pile that he’d started. She hadn’t seen her captain then- she’s sure he’s off sulking and keeping to himself right now instead of dwelling near _them_ , because God forbid he actually engage in an honest conversation for once, right?

Emma opens up the curtains to let light into the living room as she feeds Henry and then, when he’s finished and burped, she settles him back into his bed of pillows so she can clean the rest of the man’s mess.

She throws her hair up into a bun atop of her head using a rubber band she’d found in one of the drawers in the kitchen and hobbles around as she moves piles of garbage and creates a cleaner smelling and looking place of dwelling. She wonders if he’s ever actually cleaned as she discovers a pile of clothes on his bedroom floor.

“Looks like I’m doing laundry now, too.” Emma mutters, throwing the clothes onto the bed so she can wrap everything up in his probably horribly dirty bed sheets.

She carries everything out into the kitchen and throws out the garbage before she takes a tub from the storage room and fills it with water. She finds some soap and gets to cleaning everyone’s clothes outside, by what appears to be a good enough place to hang the wire to set things to dry.

She handles her and Henry’s clothes with care and makes sure they smell exceptional before allowing them to dry on their own line, pinned down with some clothespins she discovered also in a miscellaneous drawer in the kitchen.

She keeps her eye out for Killian, but doesn’t see him. Her gaze goes to the lighthouse at the end of the beach. It’s tall and white, appearing a little worn for its years. The waves rolling in against the shore remind her of the night she stood on the side of the ship and was tossed from the upper deck and to the lower one.

Her leg hurts when she thinks of it and she takes a deep breath. All she sees when she closes her eyes is her parents in mourning over the loss of their only child and it makes her want to throw up what’s in her stomach.

After she goes back inside, Emma starts to prepare herself a meal of oatmeal and bread, returning to Henry to give him some attention as she makes her food.

He is a good baby, she thinks, because when he is properly taken care of he does not complain or fuss. She sings a little to him when she sits down to eat her food with him in her arm and pokes at his nose, laughing a little when he makes a face.

“You’re too cute, Henry.” Emma sighs.

She just barely reaches for her spoon when the front door squeaks on its way open.

Killian stares at her first, his mouth open as if he was about to reprimand her for something, and then he looks around the room.

“Did you- did you clean?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

“You were living in filth. Of course I cleaned.” Emma scoffs. He just looks confused and bewildered as he searches over the room. “The clothes and your bed sheets should be dried soon and I’ll have those folded up and replaced as soon as I can.” Emma takes a bite of her oatmeal. “Oh, and you had mice living in that storage room, by the way. I got rid of them. Or… tried to. I think you need to patch up the wall in there.”

His eyes widen at that and she smiles smugly, looking down at the bowl in front of her again. “You shouldn’t- you didn’t have to do all of that.”

Emma hums. “I’d thought you would have been more appreciative that I’m doing housework. You know, being a woman and all, I have no other good use.” He stares at her with a clenched jaw and steps inside, allowing the door to clatter shut. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

He scowls a little and wipes his feet on the mat she’d discovered in the bedroom under a pile of other misplaced items. He walks over to the kitchen appliances and sets to making something.

Emma ignores the feeling of under appreciation and attends to her own meal and Henry, whose tongue flicks over his lips.

“How do you get warm water for bathing?” she asks. “I should give Henry a bath.”

He doesn’t answer her. He opens and closes drawers like a man plagued by fury.

Emma sighs. “Plates are by the stove. Silverware’s in the drawer by the sink.”

He stills and then she hears the two open one after another. Killian takes a seat at the table across from her a short while later and she watches him with a raised eyebrow, waiting for her answer.

He’s made himself a sandwich that he eats as if she isn’t here with him. He doesn’t have any regard for manners or her, it turns out, and he makes little noises that infuriate her between hard swallows of breath through his nose.

“Boil it over the fire,” he tells her gruffly. She’s looking at Henry, biting on her lip so hard she thinks she could draw blood, and keeps her gaze down. “Shouldn’t be using that leg, though.”

Emma looks up at him. “I do what I want.”

He sighs, pushing the last bit of sandwich into his mouth. “Your funeral.”

Killian stands up and disregards his utensils into the sink, thankfully, before he storms back outside, the door slamming shut roughly.

“Your funeral,” Emma mocks, sticking her tongue out toward the door. She rolls her eyes hard. “Jackass.”

///

Killian sucks in a deep breath of the ocean air as he walks back toward the lighthouse.

His fingers twitch by his side and he reaches up to drag his hair out of his face. It’s getting too bloody long, but he doesn’t feel like cutting it.

He opens the door to his lighthouse and studies the pile of wood he has set up on the floor. He has decided to build Henry a bed, because it doesn’t feel right forcing him to sleep in a cradle of pillows.

Even though Henry’s cries can be a bother, he’d rather be able to look back at this time and say he did the proper thing.

With a heavy sigh, Killian sits down in the chair in front of the lumber. He switches on the record player and the slow, quiet tones of the melancholy guitar begin to echo around the small circular base of the lighthouse.

He knows the song by heart, but he doesn’t sing, he just listens as he works the wood and finishes shaping the cradle for the little one.

Memories of a time years ago flashback in his mind and he closes his eyes sorrowfully while he leans back.

There are letters ingrained in the wood from where he’d put his chisel years ago, the initials of a child he’d never get to meet.

Sometimes the memories come and he drowns them out in alcohol, but when he considers the present- how he has a woman and a child in his home now, and how that woman cleaned his home from top to bottom without him asking- he figures he should stay as far away from the bottle as he can.

Killian scrubs his hand over his face and averts his gaze to the photograph sitting on the edge of his desk- of he and Liam years ago. They’re both grinning, but Liam has it worse, his arm wrapped around Killian’s shoulders, and Killian has his uniform on. The two of them stand in front of the lighthouse while a boat sits tied off to the dock.

Killian feels a pang of regret settle in his belly and he closes his eyes as he turns away from his desk and instead toward the door.

“Apologize, you git.” Killian mutters under his breath. He sighs heavily and hesitates for a few moments before he steps forward.

As soon as he stands outside in the cold, with the sound of the ocean roaring against one side of him, he hears Emma’s screams and hums a laugh.

“I told you, didn’t I?” he shakes his head, but rushes forward regardless.


	4. Chapter 4

Four

She curses him under her breath a half dozen times before she starts yelling obscenities in the middle of the living room.

He was right and she’s not incredibly surprised by it, but she is still stubbornly frustrated regardless.

She stumbles to the couch and clutches at her leg.

The crack had been loud and out of nowhere. She’d been in the middle of getting back from the laundry line, having finished folding and putting everything back, intending on finding a new home for the clothes pins. And then it happened, sending her to the floor in an instant.

She’s a little surprised the kid hasn’t caught on to her distress. Henry is currently lying in his bundle of pillows dressed in a cloth diaper fashioned from one of Killian’s shirts.

Emma whines. She’s fairly certain she’s re-fractured the break and now he’s going to come back and have to reset it. Damn him.

The thing about her leg being broken is that it really, really shouldn’t be. The old fashioned ship was an insane choice for a family cruise to begin with, and Emma getting flung like she was from her spot on the upper deck was an act of insanity, if not impossible.

She grits her teeth and struggles to lie down, biting her lip and cursing more. A part of her hopes he comes back because of the noise, but the other part of her wants him to never come back.

The door opens up, squealing on its way. It’s a dramatic buildup, Killian walking into the room, and once he reaches her, he tilts his head.

He’s standing there, all dashing and stupid, and she thinks he’s savoring this moment.

“Shut up,” she growls.

He smirks. “Do you need my help?”

Emma scowls, but then the pain makes her angry again. “Screw you.”

He chuckles darkly. His eyes are alight with amusement. “I don’t think now would be the time for that, love.”

She rolls her eyes so hard she thinks they’ll fall out of her head. “How charming. Just do it, you ass.”

He slides her up the couch a little so she doesn’t hit Henry, and just like last time, he doesn’t warn her, and she screams. Emma growls at him when he backs off.

He stares at her for a second. “Better not get up for a while if you want it to heal properly, yeah?”

“And just how am I going to take care of Henry if I can’t feed him or change him?”

He looks over at the lump by her feet and sighs. “Teamwork. I’ll deliver your materials when he requires them and you’ll do the work.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.” Killian takes a step back. “What time is it?”

“Late.”

He turns around and she watches him as he leaves the living room to go into the kitchen.

She scoffs, closing her eyes and draping her arm over her forehead as she lays back, settling into the cushions of the raggedy sofa. Henry fusses at her feet a moment later and she groans.

“Henry,” she sighs. “Just for five minutes, can you not need something?”

It isn’t fair that she’s being tasked to take care of a kid that doesn’t even belong to her. It isn’t fair that she broke her leg and has had to get it reset twice.

It isn’t fair that she’s stranded on an island with this man who seems to believe that women are only good for cooking and cleaning.

She just wants to go home, to wrap herself up in a blanket and sit between her parents on their couch, watching some old movies while they discuss mundane crap. She _misses_ talking about mundane crap. Who would’ve known?

Emma winces as she sits up, her thoughts of home weighing heavily on her chest, settling into the pit of her stomach anxiously. She misses home and she misses her family and friends. She misses Neal, of all people, and he isn’t even someone she likes that much right now.

Somehow she manages to adjust so that Henry is cradled against her and she sighs. “Hey! Captain Hook! Get back here.”

The boots clatter loudly against the floors and she hears him moving things in the kitchen. “Where the bloody hell did you put the bottles?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Top shelf next to the sink.”

She hears him yanking the door open and then he puts together the bottle noisily. The man has a nasty habit of being over-the-top loud and it annoys her so much, especially with a crying baby roaring in her ear.

“Hurry up, damn it!”

“I hear him!” the man yells, clearly just as perturbed as she is. “I bloody well hear him! Bloody woman!”

She sighs as she rocks Henry a bit to get him to calm down. He doesn’t.

By the time the idiot comes back into the room, she has no patience for anything and yanks the bottle from him hastily. He goes storming off immediately and she hears the front door squeaking open and slamming shut, making her roll her eyes again.

“Yeah, thanks for the help, you jerk.”

Emma turns her attention to Henry and successfully gets him to eat and fall back asleep within a matter of twenty minutes. She leaves the bottle on the floor and curls up on the couch as much as she can, closing her eyes and listening to the world move around her.

It is raining.

She hears the steady threshing of the rain against the roof and a dribbling sound from _somewhere_ she’s sure she’ll discover in the morning. The night is dark and when it starts to thunder, she’s reminded of the night she was tossed from the ship.

It’s chilly in the house and she tugs at her blanket to trap the body heat closer. Maybe she would feel better if she and Killian weren’t so horrifically opposed to one another. Maybe she could let herself rest and get comfortable.

But instead, she dwells on the fact that he is a man with his own set of ideas and plans, plans that _she_ interrupted when she washed up on his island.

It isn’t her fault that the ocean brought her to him. It isn’t her fault that the ocean brought them both this child to take care of.

She wonders briefly what she’ll do with him when she gets back to Maine. If she gets rid of him, he’ll get sent into the system and-

Emma sighs, shaking her head. She’ll find him a home with someone. Maybe her parents would want him. They couldn’t have children. This could be a second opportunity for them.

With a little hope blossoming in her chest, Emma turns her thoughts to Neal, to the complete asshole that he is, and tries to justify her answer to him.

He says he’s sorry for what he’d done when she was younger. It had been a mess. She’d gone to jail for him. She can’t trust anyone, especially Neal. But it’s not like she can push him away. He’s _trying_ and that’s something at least.

A short while later, the front door opens and shutters closed.

She hears Killian huffing and wiping his feet on the rug, then she thinks he takes his boots off, because he comes walking into the living room quietly. He’s dripping wet when he squats down in front of the sofa, her eyes wide at the sight of him.

Beside him, he has a wooden _something-_ what she isn’t sure.

“I wanted to apologize,” he tells her softly.

She can tell he’s telling her the truth; his eyes are steady and unmoving and his words don’t tremble in the way they might if he were lying. He’s cold, clearly, and soaked, which explains the small chatter in his teeth and the wavering in his tone.

He takes a deep breath before he continues, “I’ve treated you poorly since you’ve woken and it isn’t at all how you should be treated.”

Emma blinks at him. She doesn’t know what to say, if she’s supposed to say anything at all. He’s actually being… _sweet_ and it confuses the hell out of her.

“Thank you for cleaning this place. I, um, I’ve let it fall to pieces a bit and I appreciate what you’ve done to bring it back to livable standards.”

Her heart rate quickens at his words and an unfamiliar feeling of gratitude befalls her. She is appreciated. She is wanted. Her actions have not gone unnoticed.

“You’re welcome,” she manages quietly.

He smiles softly. “Perhaps we should agree to be civil, yeah? Four weeks is quite a bit of time if we’re going to treat each other like we have been.”

Emma laughs breathily, drawing his smile up a little.

“And if I’m anything, I’m a gentleman, so I want you and Henry to take my bedroom. I’ve made Henry a cradle so he doesn’t have to be buried in pillows any longer. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Emma opens her mouth. “What? No, it’s fine. I’m-”

He sets his hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Emma, I’ve treated you poorly and I’m trying to make it right. Allow me this, at the very least. You’ll only be here four weeks and I’ve got the rest of my life to live in that bed.”

Emma frowns a little at that, but accepts with hesitancy, sitting up and taking his arm when he offers it to her. They move slowly to the bedroom and he helps her into the bed, covering her with blankets. He sets a fire in the fireplace and then brings the wooden _something_ into the room.

It’s a cradle, she realizes, and it makes her heart melt.

Killian stares at the cradle for a moment and she can tell he’s thinking deeply about something, but he shakes it off and goes to get the child.

She knows it’s not his specialty, carrying and caring for Henry, she knows because he’d been practically yelling at the little boy when she’d first discovered him. So to see him carrying Henry makes her heart warm because she _knows_ he doesn’t want this.

Maybe it’s his fear of dropping him; a purely male feeling. Maybe it’s because he has a hook for a hand. Maybe it’s something else entirely, but to see him trying is something she thinks is a rare sight and she takes it in for all it’s worth.

Emma helps him settle Henry down on the bed with his bundle of blankets and pillows, holding him in her arms while Killian lowers the little boy into the new cradle.

He’s pleasantly asleep; blissfully unaware of anything that’s transpired.

“Sleep well, Emma,” he says. “I’ll be in to help when he stirs.”

Emma nods.

“Thank you,” she says, voice laced with more than just a thank you for helping with Henry.

He stares at her for a moment, then nods once, lips pressing into a line.

He leaves her room with a softened pace, shoulders set in a less angry way, and she releases a sigh, closing her eyes.

It’s as if her silent prayers were answered. The man takes a walk in the rain and comes back a renewed person.

She’s thankful for whatever it is that got into him, though, and presses her nose against his pillow, breathing in the scent of sea and a little bit of cinnamon, something she supposes must be ingrained in the sheets, because it’s _his_ smell and she just washed these today.

He smells okay, she guesses.

///

Killian feels something heavy in his chest. Change.

As he walks through his living room, Killian goes to the bookshelf in the wall and his fingers dance over the leather binding of his favorites. He considers reading because he knows he won’t be able to sleep through the night on the sofa, but he decides against the novels.

His attention goes to the television against the wall and he grimaces, taking his fingers through his hair.

In that moment, he recalls Emma telling him about the shortages of food and he finds himself just curious enough to go investigate. Not to his surprise, he discovers the pantry re-organized, tidied, and cleaned.

“There’s not enough,” he murmurs to himself on a grimace. “Bloody hell, there’s not going to be enough.”

There’s a small stash in the lighthouse, but considering he spends a good deal of time picking those food items off when he hides out in the lighthouse, he figures there’s not half as much as there was at the beginning.

It is in this moment, as he’s standing in the pantry studying the shelves of canned food, that Killian resolves to go hungry in order to keep Emma and Henry alive.


	5. Chapter 5

Five

Killian comes into the room three times in the night when Henry cries.

He’s exhausted looking every time and she’s sure she looks miserable, too, cradling Henry in her arms to feed him with sagging eyes. 

He sits in the chair under the window next to the fireplace and she tries not to notice the way his hair sticks up in every direction, or the way his eyes are half open, though it’s clear that he’s trying to be attentive for the sake of maintaining his role as her helper in this situation.

Henry needs to be changed after his third feeding and Emma winces as she lays him down on her legs to do the work. She doesn’t have any of the powders or wipes or anything, so she ends up using the dirtied “diaper” to wipe him and the clean one goes on with a huge struggle. The kid doesn’t like to be changed at all.

“Finally,” Emma sighs.

She’s just fastened the pin on the side and she pulls the little outfit on snugly before taking the boy into her arms and allowing him to play with her finger as she waits for him to drift off.

She nearly falls asleep herself, sitting up in the bed, but Henry doesn’t feel like sleeping and she can’t just put him down like this, so she sags her shoulders.

“Can you just go to sleep?” She’s begging and Henry just blinks his big brown eyes at her. She sighs.

“Do you know any songs?” Killian asks, voice thick with sleep.

Emma shakes her head, looking over at him. “You don’t have to stay here, you know. You can go back to sleep. He’s just going to be up until he’s ready to go back down.”

He shakes his head and stands, pulling the chair to the edge of the bed. He plunks back down and takes a breath.

“I haven’t sung in a long while,” he tells her. “So pardon my pitch.”

Emma shrugs, a swelling of surprise in her belly. “Believe me, I have no judgment. I can’t sing for my life.”

He smiles a tiny bit and Emma looks down at Henry before Killian starts in, low and deep.

His voice is beautiful and stunning to say the least. She hasn’t heard anything like it, and the song he’s singing is equally as such. It’s a song about a man calling for his lost love at sea and she thinks it’s probably a song that he used to hear at some point in his past.

He sings with passion and she keeps her gaze fixed on Henry’s tiny face while he drifts off peacefully. He’s asleep before the song is finished, and Emma keeps him in her arms so he’ll keep singing.

“That was beautiful,” she tells him when he’s finished.

Killian smiles slightly. “My brother Liam used to sing it to me when I was afraid of the storms.”

Emma smiles at that, genuinely interested in his past, interested in the fact that he used to be afraid of thunder storms.

She finds herself wanting to sit up for the rest of the night discussing themselves, but then realizes that it might not be right.

They’re still just acquaintances and when she leaves him, she’ll never see him again, so it isn’t as if there needs to be a relationship here.

Emma hands Henry off to the man so he can settle the boy into his crib. He stays sitting there in silence for a few moments with her, so she thinks he must want to talk.

She’s not good at this, but she manages to find something to say.

“Did you lose him?” she asks quietly.

He stares at her and then looks down at his lap, lip going between his teeth. “Aye,”

Emma closes her eyes and swallows. “God, I’m so sorry.”

He scoffs, sitting up and running his hand over his head. “Don’t apologize, love. No one ever sticks around, do they? Death is inevitable. I made my peace with that a long time ago.”

He shoves himself up onto his feet and returns the chair to its spot. She watches him, the way his features have darkened with the obvious pent-up anger over this topic.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks timidly.

He pauses where he’s standing by the door and glances over his shoulder. “Not entirely.”

“Okay.”

He leaves the room after a second at the door and she sees his hand clench up into a fist before falling to his side on his way out.

She wonders if she’ll ever figure him out.

There are so many layers, she’s beginning to see now, and if she doesn’t figure out what he’s about now, she probably never will. It’s odd that she wants to, because she’s had a life of messy relationships and idiots and people who claimed they wanted her but never did.

_Wanting_ to learn about someone else is unsettling. So maybe she shouldn’t want that.

Maybe she shouldn’t wonder about what Killian Jones’ history looks like, about who he lost and who he’s hiding from. Maybe she shouldn’t want to help him see that living alone on this island is doing more harm than good.

It’s evident already that he doesn’t care much for himself. She can’t say much for his grooming standards, but based on the amount of cleaning she’d done, it’s obvious that a part of Killian is careless and hopeless, as if he doesn’t want his life to be long-lived.

She can’t think of anything sadder, really. Living on this island, in this house, for another fifty years- into his old age? That sounds like it would kill him faster than anything.

People aren’t meant to live alone. If there’s something she’s learned in the past few years of living with David and Mary Margaret, it’s that. It’s probably a matter of time before it all comes crumbling down for him and she hopes with bated breath that it isn’t while she’s still here with him.

In the morning, Emma is greeted by the sound of Henry’s hungry cry and a groan from the other side of the wall.

Killian enters the room and hands the baby to her. He looks exhausted, as if his sleep had been restless.

Henry’s cries soften as soon as she holds him, but he still needs comfort, and she hums a little to him, muttering the words under her breath as she strokes over his hair and cheeks.

She bites her lip when Killian comes back into the room with the bottle in his hand.

Emma takes it from him and starts to feed Henry while Killian sits at the foot of the bed. He runs a hand over his face and sighs. “How does your leg feel?”

She shrugs. “A little better, I guess.”

He smiles a tiny bit and nods."Good. I'll get you some ice." Killian pauses and, as if he remembers something important, he tells her, "Snowed this morning."

Emma’s eyes widen. “What? Are you serious?”

Killian chuckles and nods. She looks toward the window and finds that it’s fogged over in a white sheen and she laughs.

“Can I go outside and see it?”

He shrugs. “Suppose so.”

Emma smiles at him. He seems curious, with the way his eyes shine back at her, and how tentatively stretched his smile is.

She’s oddly quite happy. The idea of snow brings back memories and they sit warm in her chest. Clearly, Killian can sense that, though he’s staring at her like she’s being silly.

“Sorry. I just- it’s just that the first snow of the year, my mom has this tradition that we do.” Emma shakes her head. “She says that the first coat of snow is the most _magical_ and we usually bottle some up and leave it in our freezer until Christmas Eve. Then we’d sprinkle it in our stockings because she said the magic in the snow would bring even more happiness than Santa could ever bring.”

He smiles at her explanation, a genuine one, his teeth showing and sparkling in the early morning light.

Her own smile fades as she looks down at Henry, realizing that her parents have no idea where she is and no clue of how to find her. She hasn’t even tried to contact them.

Is there even a way to do that? They might think she’s dead and that _definitely_ makes her heart ache, because she knows that they love her more than she thinks is even possible and losing her would absolutely drive them to the brink of insanity.

Her mother is always so hopeful, though, so she prays that they’ll keep their focus on keeping each other in high spirits until she can make her way back to them.

“Were you with your parents when you fell from the ship?” he asks.

She flits her eyes back up to him.

“Yeah,” she smiles a little, shaking her head. “We were on the way back home from England. My parents thought it would be fun to take a ship across the Atlantic instead of flying.” Emma sighs, laughing a little with bitterness. “It was our Six Year Gotcha Day vacation.”

“Gotcha Day?” Killian asks.

Emma lifts her eyebrows. “Yeah. It’s… I was adopted. We were celebrating my adoption day.”

Killian smiles and nods in understanding. “Ah.”

Henry finishes eating and she tucks the bottle down beside her while she lifts him to burp him, the cloth she’d used all night draped across her shoulder while she gently pats his back.

Killian has an unreadable look on his face, as well as little bit of confusion and empathy mixed together.

“They celebrate everything,” she tells him. “They would celebrate a good day at school if they had the time.” A smile fills his lips. Emma frowns again, longing to see her parents at the forefront of her mind. “Do you have, like, a radio or something? So that we can get word to them that I’m okay?”

He looks hesitant for a moment, squinting one eye in a painful sort of way. “I- I may’ve smashed it in a drunken stupor.” She opens her mouth and nods slowly. He cringes, pressing a hand to his forehead. “In about four weeks the supplies will come. Then you’ll be free to leave. He should have all of the necessary equipment back on the mainland.”

Emma furrows her brow. “How far away are you from _the mainland_?”

He shakes his head. “About forty-five miles.”

She hums, tilting her head curiously. “Why don’t you have a boat, then?”

His gaze turns dark and he shifts his eyes away from her, looking down at his lap. She feels a stirring of past emotions bubbling forward, as if it’s all too painful for him, and he pushes off of the bed, stalking toward the door before spinning around.

“I don’t operate sea craft any longer.” It’s all he says, but she sees the pain in his eyes and it makes her wonder yet again what exactly happened to him.

Again, she finds herself watching him walk away from her knowing just a little bit more and a whole lot less about him than when their conversation first began.

Emma bites her lip and glances down at Henry as she sets him down in her arms. “Well, Henry, what do you think? What do we do today?”

Henry gurgles and makes adorable noises, a toothless grin filling his face for a moment. She laughs.

“You’d better be glad you’re cute, otherwise I don’t think I would like being woken up so much at night.” She laughs again when he makes a vocalization. “Oh, really?”

Emma pokes his nose and he closes his eyes. His smile widens. She wonders where he comes from and who his parents are, wonders if they know he’s missing, and if they’re looking for him.

She sighs as she cradles him tighter to her chest. He certainly would be missed if he was hers.

“Emma, I’ve got to go check on the lighthouse,” Killian comes back into the room. She looks at him with wide eyes. “So if you want to try and move around, I’ll come back in about an hour or so and help you.”

Emma nods. “Okay.”

He walks in further, putting a bowl of something down on the nightstand.

“Do you think he’ll need another bottle?”

She shakes her head. “No, but if you could grab another one of those diaper cloths, that would be good.”

Killian nods and then whisks himself out of the room. Emma looks over at what he’s left for her and smiles a tiny bit because he’s left her a bowl of oatmeal. A spoon is plunked into the creamy mixture of oats.

Emma smiles down at Henry. “He might think he’s tough, but I think he’s a real softie inside, Henry. There’s no need to be scared of Killian.”

A half second later, the man waltzes back into the room with one of the diaper cloths and a roll of bandages. He holds them out purposefully.

“For your forehead, if you’d like to replace the bandages.”

Emma softens. “Oh. Um, yeah. Thank you.”

He nods and then leans in close to her, focusing intently on the gash on her forehead. She had only had a quick look at the residue during her cleaning, the blood seeping through the bandage and coloring it a light shade of brown.

She bites her lip as he pulls the tape off. “So you were in the Navy. Were you a doctor?”

He scoffs. "Not by a long shot." He grabs the roll of medical tape and uses his teeth to tear away a square. It's a practiced motion, as if he's done it a lot. "But with time, you learn how to pull off simple fixes."

Emma hums. He applies more tape to her forehead. His fingers brush against her eyebrow, as if he's examining her, and she finds his eyes in an instant that sucks the breath straight from her lungs.

"There we are. All fixed." He says lowly.

He doesn't move away from her. She can feel his breath, warm against her cheek, and the longer she stares into his eyes, the more she wants to understand him.

She sees the moment he recognizes the intimacy of the moment, of sensing just how close they are. It hits her all at once, too, and she allows herself to release a soft, shaking breath as soon as he stands upright.

His eyes fall away from her and he straightens his shoulders. "I'd better get going."

She rolls her eyes as he backs away from her. He turns the caretaker switch off and on again so easily that it's a wonder she's still breathing.

"Thanks," she says again. She doesn't say it, but she means for everything. For singing Henry to sleep, for saving them when he could've let the water drown them, and for caring when he obviously isn't built for it.

He nods. "Not a problem, Emma."


	6. Chapter 6

Six

By the end of her fourth day with Killian Jones, Emma has learned only a small percentage of the mystery that he is.

She knows that he hates coffee, but drinks it because if he doesn’t, he’ll fall asleep while he’s working on the lighthouse. This is mostly because of Henry and they both know it. He offers her some coffee on her second day and she declines it, because she has nothing better to do but sleep and tend to Henry while she’s bedridden with her stupid leg.

He only really comes to see her when Henry cries, which is often enough that she sees him every few hours, but it’s not enough for her to get any information out of him.

She still really wonders about his life and his choices. Why he would decide that living here is a mystery to her. He probably could have won any woman’s affections with just a flash of his smirk and a wink. He oozes charm. He can sing. He has pretty fantastic hair. He’s intelligent and thoughtful.

She kind of likes him, but she never admits that to herself, though she finds herself dwelling on just about everything she knows about him in all of her spare time- which is _all_ the time.

He walks with her for a little while outside the afternoon of her fifth day on Isolation Island.

It’s freezing and he has allowed her to wear one of his sweaters and a coat and a pair of boots that are way too big for her feet, so she’s using extra caution as they move around outside in the dusting of snow that remains on the island.

The snow is catching in his hair because he’s also lent her his bright red hat and she laughs teasingly, because his ears are bright pink and his cheeks are even pinker when he tells her they should go back inside.

They shake off the snowflakes and she shivers, teeth chattering as they stand in the doorway on the mat together.

The door clatters closed and she turns to face him, half of her face hidden underneath the lip of the coat.

He lets out a cold breath and clasps his hands together, hunching his shoulders with a chuckle slipping from his lips. “That’s cold,”

Emma laughs at his remark and nods in agreement as she unsnaps the buttons of the coat. She steps out of one of the boots with the leg she can manage and then, with the intention of not needing his help, Emma ends up collapsing straight into him, her hands clamoring for grip on his shoulders while her leg threatens to snap forward.

For a moment, she clings to him, unable to think straight. He is so firm and strong under her hands and her eyes find his to be dilated and wide, their breaths both surprisingly heavy. His hand is on her elbow and he gives her a gentle squeeze.

“You all right?” he asks, swallowing.

Emma nods dumbly and slips back from him, keeping her hands on him for balance as she removes the other boot.

“Sorry,” she apologizes quietly.

He shakes his head. “’s fine.”

Emma stares up at him for a moment longer, seemingly unable to break apart from his gaze.

She swallows and rips herself off and away from him, closing her eyes for a moment as she blushes a little. Her nose is freezing and the rest of her feels just as cold as she strips off the layers and carries them to the fireplace in the living room.

Henry is still where they left him, lying in his little bed beside the couch. She goes to him after Killian takes her things to set them out to dry.

She avoids his eyes, because he might be attractive and he might be nice to her on his good days, but he is still a man who doesn’t talk about his past and lives alone on an island. He could have weird fetishes or might like taking shipwrecked people in just to eat them later on. She doesn’t know. A person could go stir crazy living alone for however long he’s been doing it.

Emma sits on the sofa and holds Henry in her arms, his little lips parting as he coos at her. He is a sweet baby, she has to admit.

“Would you care for a hot chocolate?”

She glances up and nods, receiving one in return before he walks out of the room. “Do you have whipped cream?”

He’s quiet for a second. “Aye. Would you like some?”

“If it’s no trouble. It’s kind of… my family’s _thing_. We get hot cocoa with whipped cream and cinnamon. Even when it’s not winter and freezing.”

She smiles fondly, allowing Henry to take her chilled finger into his slightly warm grasp.

She listens to him as he prepares the beverages, clanking things around with a calmness she’s gotten used to since they’ve agreed to be civil. She likes this version of him; the one that isn’t fighting her because he’s uptight over the whole being stuck together situation.

He comes back into the room with a mug in his hand that he promptly gives to her. She smiles at him thankfully, biting her lip a little as she looks down and realizes that he’s not only put whipped cream on top, but also cinnamon.

He’s warming up to her. This much she can tell as she catches a look of his smirk before he walks back out of the room.

She has a sip and almost, _almost_ moans, but keeps the reaction quiet, closing her eyes and humming softly instead.

Killian returns with his own mug of cocoa and settles down on the couch beside her, almost too close for comfort.

He hums at the taste and nods at her. “It is quite good.”

Emma smiles. “Did you put whipped cream and cinnamon on yours?”

He nods again. “That I did. I can see why it’s your family’s… _thing_.”

Emma laughs and she notices his eyes smiling as he has another sip. She ducks her head as she drinks at the hot beverage.

There is a sense of camaraderie between the two of them.

They’re _both_ stuck here with nothing but each other and this tiny child she has nestled in her arm.

Emma stares down at Henry, finding him fussy, and she looks up at Killian in turn. “You know, I don’t think babies are supposed to drink cow’s milk straight up.”

Killian raises an eyebrow. “Well, what should we be feeding him then?”

Emma looks down at the little boy. She sighs heavily. “I don’t know.”

More silence follows. Emma finds herself thinking about the chance that anyone might come find this little island, wondering if Henry’s parents are out there looking for him, wondering if hers are doing the same.

Uneasily, she looks up at Killian. “Is the island off the map? Would people be able to find us if we signaled or something?”

Killian shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so. Not in my experience at least.”

His words bring back a familiar question to her mind: just how long has Killian been on this island?

“How long have you been here?” Emma asks him after a few sips of hot chocolate in silence. She turns to look at him and he licks his upper lip.

“Going on four years, I think.” He sinks back against the couch and Emma’s eyes widen.

“Really? Do you ever get lonely or bored?”

He chuckles. “I _am_ human, Emma.”

She bites her lip, hesitating before she dares ask the question that’s been at the tip of her tongue for a few days now. “Then why do you do it? Why do you stay here all by yourself?”

Killian doesn’t look disturbed by her question, instead appearing to be honestly flattered that she would be inquiring about his social life.

He shakes his head. “A loaded question, that is.”

He tilts his head to the side and downs another sip. He takes a breath and sets the mug down on the side table.

He holds his left arm up and examines his hook as if he hasn’t ever seen it before. Then, he lowers his arm and sighs.

“When I was… fifteen, my brother bought this lighthouse. He said it would be our project.” Killian smiles wryly at the memory as he stares off and away from Emma. “He’d gone and joined the navy a few years before and we’d been apart for… a remarkably long time, considering.”

She wants to ask questions, but she supposes she’s lucky he’s even talking about his apparently dark past at all.

He shakes his head. “Anyway, we worked on it. I would help him with supply hauls. We tinkered a lot, mostly. He decided to build the house and we did it all over the course of a year or so- got it up and running.

“We stayed here that summer when I was sixteen. It was a lot less involved back then. We didn’t have the telly to keep us partly interested when it decides to latch onto a signal.” Killian tosses a hand at the box across the room and shakes his head. “We mostly read books and he taught me how to craft things. We made those bookshelves, actually.”

Emma turns to look at the wall and a small smile fills her lips. “They’re beautiful.”

“Aye.” Killian agrees. He stares at them for a few moments, as if thinking about something. “I joined the navy as soon as I could. Liam returned to it too.” He looks at her. “There was a fluke explosion on a ship we were taking out for a routine maintenance run.” Killian’s gaze turns dark and he stares down at his mug. “I made it out alive, but Liam didn’t.”

Emma’s heart sinks and she shakes her head. “Oh. I’m so sorry-”

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Killian pushes up from his position on the couch and forces a smile that falls as soon as it rises. “I, um, I’ll just go see to the lighthouse, then.”

Emma drops her gaze and nods. “Okay.”

He’s gone by the time she looks up again.

At least now she has some idea as to what’s going on with him. She has a feeling she hasn’t gotten to the worst of his hurt, and she’s not even sure listening to his story about his brother will have any impact at all.

Not that she needs it to have meant something for him. She just finds him impossibly dark and hard to understand, and she’s going to be here with him for a month.

///

Killian takes his fingers through his impossibly long hair as he walks out into the cold day. He breathes out a puff of white just to see it and he kicks his boot against the rocks on the shoreline.

He hasn’t thought about that day on the _Jewel_ for a long time. He’s kept it locked away, never to be seen or spoken of again, and yet here he is, telling some woman he found on the shore of this bloody island his life’s darkest secrets.

Something whispers in the back of his mind that she isn’t just some woman, reminds him of the connection he’s felt growing between them, teases him with the idea that maybe she could drag him out of his agony.

Killian scoffs, the warm air from his lungs colliding with the cold in another puff of white. He feels weakened, his guard falling by the day, and he knows it’s what Liam would’ve wanted, but it’s hard letting go.

///

“We should probably talk about how there’s not a ton of food in the pantry,” Emma says as soon as Killian returns from the outside. He’s carrying an armful of wood for the fire and he seems caught off guard by her statement.

She’s standing in the kitchen, nibbling on her lip with arms folded across her chest. She was going to make something to eat, but realized as she rifled through his freezer box that there wasn’t a lot to work with.

Killian releases a heavy sigh, as if he’d expected this conversation. “Just a moment.”

He goes into the other room and she hears him set the wood down before he steps back into the kitchen with his pink cheeks and earlobes. He pulls the hat from his head and unzips his jacket.

Killian stares at her thoughtfully. “Eat whatever you need to feel full. I’ll take less of a portion or none at all. I’ll survive.”

Emma gives him a weary look. Her shoulders sag and she shakes her head. “No, I don’t think that’s a great idea-”

“It’s what I want,” Killian insists. He glances over his shoulder at the living room and then back at her. “You and Henry weren’t supposed to find me, but you did, so I figure the least I owe you is enough food to survive until you can go home again.”

Emma’s heart pounds just a little bit faster when he steps toward her with pure honesty in his gaze. He’s trying. This is the kindest she has ever seen him.

She scans his face and swallows thickly. “I don’t think-”

“I’ll eat some,” he promises lowly. “Just… don’t worry about it, Emma.”

She knows she’s pushing harder than she’s ever pushed before. He’s told her about his brother and he’s given her his bed, and now he’s giving her his food. It should be enough to satisfy her enough to shut up and wait out the month, but something niggles at the back of her brain, begging her to find out more.

Emma takes a soft breath. “Okay.”

He nods once. He tosses a look over his shoulder again. “I was going to start a fire. It’s getting cold in here again.”

“Sounds good,” Emma smiles slightly.

Killian bobs his head and turns back around, leaving her to contemplate everything and anything she’s ever learned about cooking.


	7. Chapter 7

Seven

He tells her as he’s helping her walk to the bathroom one day after lunch that he might be in need of a haircut and that he’s no good at it. She laughs at that and looks at the lengthy strands of hair that go down past what is typically a man’s hairstyle, curling at the nape of his neck.

She hums in agreement. “Have any scissors? I’m not a professional, but I can do my best.”

In a flash, he digs through a drawer in the bathroom and pulls a pair out with a triumphant smile.

Emma chuckles. “Okay, I’ll cut those long, luscious Fabio locks for you.”

Killian just smiles before leaving her to do her business.

She hobbles out with a smile on her face and finds him sitting at the kitchen table with the scissors in front of him.  He’s not paying any attention to her, instead seeming more interested in the cracked crown molding on the wall in front of him.

She’s never cut anyone’s hair before, but she supposes it can’t be terribly difficult. She’s seen her mother cut her father’s hair plenty of times, albeit she had a razor and his unfailing love and devotion were anything to go wrong.

“Oh, now?”

He turns to her, ripped from his thoughts, and nods. “If you don’t mind.”

Emma takes the scissors from the table and pulls her lip into her mouth. She weighs the cool object in her palm and nervous butterflies cause her to stall.

Looking at him from behind, he seems so much younger than he is. His hair could probably be put into a small ponytail if he wanted to.

“Do you usually do this yourself?”

“Aye.”

Of course he does. There’s no one else here.

Emma sucks in a deep breath as she makes her decision. She grips the scissors firmly and lifts her eyebrows at Killian. “How short do you want it?”

He shrugs. “Whatever seems natural. Just don’t make me bald, love, it’s cold and I quite like having a head of hair.”

Emma rolls her eyes. “I think you can trust me that I won’t shave it all off, Killian.”

He smiles, filling his cheeks, and it makes her grin as she aligns herself with the back of him.

He’s wearing a dark sweater today and jeans, items she thinks she washed a few days ago, and they make him seem somewhat softer than usual. She likes the homebody look on him, to be quite honest. He’s handsome in anything, but today he’s even more so.

Emma combs through his hair with her fingers, trying to get a feel and a vision for what she’s going to do, and then she straightens out his head as she starts cutting.

It’s an oddly intimate thing. He’s trusting her to not make a mess of his head and she’s so close to him that she can feel how warm he is.

His hair is soft and smooth between her fingers and she wonders how on Earth it could ever possibly be this way. He doesn’t bathe daily and his diet consists of coffee and soup or something of that equivalent. Sometimes, he skips meals, something that really frustrates her to no end.

She probably spends too long dwelling on the fact that his hair is soft and wonderful, because he clears his throat and shifts in his chair, causing her to jolt back into reality.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

Emma takes her time. She keeps her eyes focused and her tongue between her teeth as she makes each decision of where his hair needs to be trimmed.

By the time she comes around to get his bangs back to where they should be, she’s fairly proud of her work.

His hair is cut in a way she’s seen her mother give her father with the exception of the leeway she’s given him to style with on the top and at the front. She experiments with it when she’s finished, stringing his hair between her fingers and yanking upward. It sticks, which amuses her.

Emma smiles, feeling accomplished, as she steps back from him. She clasps her hands together. “Okay. All done. Looking handsome.”

He smiles at her, a little flush of embarrassment in his cheeks. He stands, runs his hand through his hair, and then nods once.

“I might have to keep you around. Cut my hair every few months.”

He’s obviously teasing and she laughs, because seeing him feel comfortable around her makes things just a little bit easier.

Emma watches him as he goes to look at her work and bites her lip when he comes back. His eyes are bright and he appears to have lost some of the weight he typically carries around in his shoulders.

“I feel like a new man!”

She chuckles. “Well, you had a lot of shag going on.”

He plays with the moldable hair atop his head and then drops his hand. “Well, I should say thanks are in order, then.”

He smiles at her, all teeth and bright eyes, and her heart squeezes tight within her chest, because _God_ he looks so much better with his hair cut. It’s not fair, really, that one man could look this good. And she was the one that did it to him.

Emma straightens out, her eyes wide and head shaking as she tries to stop thinking of what he might look like under those jeans and that damn attractive tight sweater.

“You’re welcome. Someone had to do it. Otherwise you’d be pulling a Robin Williams in Jumanji, and we can’t have that, now, can we?”

He chuckles. “I suppose you’re right.”

Emma finds herself breathless all of a sudden and she realizes that they’re standing awkwardly close to each other. She holds her breath for a second and releases it when Henry starts crying in the other room.

She glances over her shoulder at the sudden disturbance and sighs- relieved that at least in the midst of all of the tension there is a constantly needy baby to anchor her down.

“I’ll prepare the bottle. Can you manage to walk?”

She nods in the affirmative and starts for the living room where they left the kid. She picks him up as soon as she can and he stares up at her with tears in his sad eyes.

“You’re okay, Henry,” Emma soothes, smoothing over his fingers. “I’ve got you.”

Killian comes to her side a few minutes later and his breath is basically in her ear as he leans in to hand her the bottle. She forces a smile, tries to ignore the amount of body heat he’s burning into her. It’s impossible to breathe like this and it is the _worst_ feeling ever. She hasn’t had _eyes_ for anyone in a long time and-

God damn it. She has three weeks left with him.

He walks away from her and she releases a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

Emma sits on the couch with Henry as she feeds him, steadying herself with the thought of going home and seeing her parents again. It isn’t like she would stay here with him anyway.

She has a life in Maine. She has a job. She has a family, friends. She has an apartment and bills and responsibilities. She can’t stay here and he has an unhealthy desire to. So even the bold half-thought of maybe getting to try a relationship with Killian is _stupid_ because it would never work.

“Emma, I’m going to go check on the leak above the bathroom. Shouldn’t be long.”

He comes into the room and she nods, though she’s barely keeping it together, because the man is wearing his coat and a scarf and it’s nearly too much for her to handle.

“Okay,” she chirps, wincing immediately.

He quirks a little curious brow, but then nods and turns around, a smile on his lips.

She sighs and looks down at Henry after the front door clatters shut. “Don’t tell anyone I told you this, Henry, but I think I’ve created a monster.” Henry suckles at the milk and kicks his feet in her lap, making her smile. “You’re too good, kid.”

Once Henry is fed and changed, she rocks him to sleep and tucks him into the cradle. As she stares at the sleeping boy, she finds initials on the wood, on the back, hidden from sight. They’ve since been crossed out with a harsh chisel, but she can make out part of the last letter, definitely a ‘J’.

Emma frowns and runs her fingers along the letters. She wants to know who this belonged to more than anything and she wonders if there are any hints hidden in the house.

Determined, she gets up and moves around on her leg like she’s been doing as a sort of physical therapy for the past few days.

She finds herself lingering by the bookshelf as she listens to Killian hammering something on the other side of the house. Maybe the leak will finally go away and she can visit the bathroom without wondering if she’ll have to change right away.

She runs her fingers over the bindings of the books, reading titles and smiling to herself as she plucks some off.

He’s a meticulous reader, it appears, because as she goes through his bookshelf, she finds that most of the books have been dog-eared and highlighted, words scribbled in the margins. He’s a lit-freak and she can’t help but _love_ it.

His handwriting is sloppy, but she can make out a lot of what he’s written. He’s very insightful, probably as good as her high school literature teacher, or better.

There’s nothing on these bookshelves that seems to come from anywhere in his painful past, however. She wonders if he keeps the memories locked up somewhere. Surely he wouldn’t strand himself to this place and not keep at least one memento from his younger years.

She hums, fascinated, when she finds herself stumbling upon his romance novels. Emma bites on her lip as she opens the pages to find them very clean and probably never read.

She has to laugh, because obviously the person giving him entertainment had taken the time and money to put this into getting it to him and he never touched it, but kept it. Maybe one day he would read it.

Or, she might.

She gnaws on her lip in the middle of making her decision, thinking that maybe it would put an end to these insane urges she has toward Killian and instead thrust them upon this half-naked cover model’s character.

She’s interrupted before she can take the book with her to the couch and start reading.

The door opens and closes with a loud clatter and she hears him noisily re-adjusting to the warmth of the little home. He comes into the room with everything but his boots on and smiles wide at her.

“Great news, love. Fixed the roof.”

Emma widens her eyes and smiles in appreciation, hiding the book behind her back. “Thanks. It’s been getting on my nerves.”

He tilts his head, stepping closer to her with a curious look on his face, edging on teasing. “What’s that you’ve got there?”

Emma shakes her head, trying to maintain innocence. “Nothing.”

She steps back, toward the bookshelf, and he grins, clicking his tongue in his cheek at her, pointing his index finger at her.

“That’s not- are you reading a romance novel, Emma?”

She scoffs, trying to deny him, ending up dancing away from him when he gets too close.

“No! I was just looking at your bookshelf.”

He hums, narrowing his eyes at her before he makes his move, lunging for her, causing her to yelp as she holds the book above her head. He laughs triumphantly and she squeezes her eyes shut, horror filling the pit of her stomach.

“It’s not like that! I didn’t even open it.”

He plucks the book from her and she watches him examine the cover before raising an eyebrow at her, a hum escaping his throat. Those damn eyebrows have a life of their own, don’t they?

“I didn’t read any of it.” Emma tilts her head defiantly and he sways closer to her.

His eyes are bright blue, shining and _happy_ , something she hasn’t really seen before. She’s seen glimpses of it, maybe, but never in a full dose like this.

“I never said you did.”

“Just wanted to make it clear that I wasn’t going to.” Emma shrugs, making a clear note in her mind of how close he is to her.

He is close enough to touch, but not close enough to smell, and the way he’s moving, he’ll be that way very soon.

He nods. “Ah. But you weren’t… you weren’t even curious to read it, were you?”

Emma senses a tone of teasing and flirting and she’s suddenly aware of the fact that they’re _both_ finding each other interesting and attractive.

“No. Of course not.” She pinches her eyebrows together and he smiles a little, searching her eyes.

“Searching for a little relief, love?” He’s still teasing, though his voice is gruff and quieter as his eyes become just a hue darker. “Perhaps an itch needs scratching?”

She swallows and breathes him in. He’s all ocean and that stupid soap they use in the bathroom with a hint of coffee. She isn’t sure if it’s from his breath or his sweater where he’d spilt some, or maybe he just naturally smells that way- but she’s smelling it. She’s smelling it all. It’s overwhelming.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Emma tries.

He smirks. He’s trying to get under her skin and she’s not sure what she wants to do about that.

“Aye,” he mutters, laughing quietly as he tilts his head down a little. He sets the book down and straightens up, eyes trailing over her face.

It’s one of those moments, where they just stare at one another. He seems to realize what’s happening faster than he usually does. He steps away and closes his eyes on a sharp intake of breath.

“I…”

Emma lowers her gaze to the floor for a moment before she meets his eyes. He reaches up to rub the back of his head and pivots on his heel toward the doorway leading into the kitchen.

“I should, um, go check on things outside.” Killian finishes. He lowers his hand to his side and starts to go. He turns back toward her when he reaches the doorway. “Thank you again for the haircut.”

Emma nods her head and manages a smile. “Yeah, no problem.”

///

Killian enters the house well past suppertime, fully expecting Emma and Henry to be asleep.

However, to his surprise, there’s music playing in the living room, and when he steps inside after discarding his coat and boots, he discovers Emma sitting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket, lit by flickering candlelight as she flips through the pages of a photo album.

His eyes go wider than hers do when she looks up at him.

“Bloody hell,” he curses under his breath. “Where did you find that?”

Emma shakes her head. “It was in your bedroom.” She leans away from the book and her fingers draw it closed. “Sorry.”

Killian sighs and takes his hand through his hair. It’s a weird feeling, now that it’s short. He drops to his knees on the floor beside her and shakes his head.

“No, it’s not… it’s okay,” he tells her. “I just thought I lost it.”

Emma frowns at that. “Really? It wasn’t hard to find. It was just in a box under your bed.”

Killian looks at the book. Emma slides it toward him and he lifts the cover, pushing it to the side. On the first page, there’s a photo of he and Liam as children, Liam holding a baby Killian in his lap while their father sat beside them on the green and white striped sofa.

He traces his fingers over the photo and looks beneath it, at the one photograph he has of his mother.

She’s not lying in bed, as he remembers she mostly did as a small child, instead she’s sitting on his father’s lap in the living room by the fireplace. She’s smiling and gazing at her husband, her fingers pressed to his cheek as she spoke to him.

“She’s beautiful,” Emma says.

Killian clears his throat and turns his gaze up to her. “Aye.” He flips the page. “She passed when I was very young. I hardly remember her.”

Emma smiles softly. “I know how that feels.”

He takes a breath and finds a pair of photos of Killian going into kindergarten. He wears hand-me-downs from Liam while his older brother snapped the photos.

Oddly enough, he remembers that day quite vividly- how when he returned from his first day of class, excited to share with his father how things had gone, his father was nowhere to be found.

Killian flips the page on the memory and his heart skips a beat at the sight of the woman staring back at him.

He must stare at it for too long, because it prompts Emma to say, “Who was she?”

Killian looks up at Emma and sighs. “She was… my whole world.”

She’s waiting for an explanation, he knows she is, and he shakes his head because of it.

“Why do you want to know, Emma? Why did you go looking for this?”

She stares back at him and seems to withdraw. “I… sorry. I just… I don’t know. You’re secretive and I have to live with you and I don’t know if you’re going to hurt me or-”

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know that? I mean, you helped me and Henry, but… it’s a month on an island with two people you never wanted here. I guess we kind of owe an explanation to each other, don’t we?”

He considers her for a moment. She does have a point.

“Aye. I suppose.” Killian drops his gaze to the book and clears his throat. “Her name was Milah. She and I were seeing each other just before I joined the navy and she stuck with me after Liam passed. Could’ve been a hell of a lot worse if she hadn’t been there.”

He feels sick to his stomach, but he soldiers on.

“I guess it was about five years ago now. We were living in London and she wanted to come out to see the lighthouse and I agreed to take her.” He smiles slightly. “She was pregnant. Only about two months along, but we were both excited anyway. Being on a boat didn’t help in the slightest, though. She was bedridden for almost the whole trip.” Killian bites on his lip. He shakes his head. “We fought. We fought a lot, actually. We were both incredibly hot headed.”

Killian sucks in a breath. “I got an offer from the coastguard to operate the lighthouse as a job, because ships were crashing here and-” Killian pauses. “I agreed. Milah didn’t think she could stay. I took her back home and it was the biggest mistake of my life. There was a huge storm that night and I couldn’t see-”

It flashes in his mind, the moment he lost her, and he can’t bring himself to explaining it.

“I tried to save her, but-” Killian stops himself short, tears burning in his eyes. He draws his left arm up, glaring at the monstrosity hanging from his limb. “This bloody-”

Emma reaches over and touches his arm. “Hey, it’s okay.”

They stare at one another for a few lingering moments while he calms himself down with heavy breaths through his nose.

“Well, you wanted to know who I am. That’s who I am,” he says. “I’ve lost more than my fair share so I’m here to protect myself from hurting myself and anyone who knows me.”

Emma shakes her head. She stares down at the photograph for a few moments before a slow soft smile spreads on her face.

“My dad used to tell me something that his mom told him when he was growing up. He grew up on a farm, so he saw all kinds of things. Animals being born… animals dying…”

She shakes her head and sighs. “Anyway- one day, when he was really young, he found a dying blue bird outside on their porch and he brought it inside to try to heal it, but days passed and the bird didn’t get any better. It died. He said his mom told him that dying is the easy part. Things die everyday, but it takes a will to live." Emma stares at him. "I guess what I'm saying is you're still here- living."

Killian feels something well up inside of him. Perhaps it’s foolish to think that maybe he could start new, but as he stares at Emma he can practically see himself happy again.

He looks down at the photos in his lap and closes the book. He doesn’t have anything to say and it’s clear that Emma knows that. She straightens out and sighs.

“Help me to bed?” she asks softly.

“Aye. Of course.”

Killian and Emma move in silence as he helps her hobble into the bedroom. He hoists her up into the bed and she pulls the covers over her, still sitting up.

He stares at her, suddenly feeling as if he has one more thing to say.

“I was bitter, when you first arrived, because I didn’t want you interrupting my little world,” he tells her. “I realized my fault when I got to thinking about all that you’d done on that busted leg when you didn’t have to.” He tosses his hand, a smile filling his lips at the memory. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had to live with anyone, much less a headstrong lass as yourself.”

Emma smiles at the complement. They stare at each other for a few seconds. “When we leave, are you going to stay here?”

He dips his brow. “It’s my life here, Emma. It’s my work and my home. I’m not about to leave it.”

She nods, looking down at her lap. “Right,”

“Goodnight, Emma.”

“Goodnight, Killian.”


	8. Chapter 8

Eight

She wakes with a start to the sound of Henry’s crying.

It’s storming outside, the thunder cracking as soon as she opens her eyes. The room is dark and warm, and she immediately runs her fingers through her hair, feeling just a little bit disoriented.

“Bloody hell,” Killian’s voice carries from the other room.

She scans the windows whose curtains are peeled back, and finds that it’s dark with the exception of the lightning.

Killian comes bolting into the bedroom with his clothes thrown on, his scarf and coat hanging unfastened, and he calls out, “Lights aren’t on. I’ll be back- just-”

She furrows her brow, listening as the man hurries back out of the room and closes the front door with a crash.

Emma lifts Henry into her arms as a roll of thunder washes them over. It’s so weird that it can storm in the middle of a week filled with cold weather and _snow_.

“Hey, shh,” Emma bounces him a little. “Henry, it’s okay. I’m here.”

She carries him into the kitchen as best as she can and starts to prepare him a bottle, not wanting to wait an eternity for Killian to come back.

She continues to try and quiet the sobbing child while she waits for the milk to warm up on the stove and finds herself aggravated, because honestly, she could be anywhere but here right now.

She has a fussing baby in her arms, in the middle of a thunderstorm.

It’s overwhelming and tears find her eyes as she’s reminded of the very impressive fact that she isn’t at home.

She isn’t a phone call away from her mother’s soothing voice. She isn’t a car drive away from her comfy bed or from Granny’s grilled cheese and onion rings. She isn’t anywhere close to _people_ she cares about at all.

She is on an island, with a man with whom she has quite possibly the most complicated relationship with, and she has to take care of someone else’s stupid crying kid.

Her heart is racing and her stomach is churning as she feels the hot tears welling in her eyes. She blinks them free as she stands at the stove, watching the milk cautiously.

All she wants is a warm hug from her father and a mug of hot cocoa from her mother. Maybe even one of those old movies they always end up putting new words to because it’s fun to do.

Emma takes a shaky breath as she pours the warm milk into the bottle and she turns the stove off before taking Henry to the table to feed him. She bites down on the inside of her lower lip and sniffs, wiping her eyes and cheeks on her shoulder.

She isn’t sure how long after she burps him she sits there, watching his little face as he falls asleep to the sound of the tossing world around them.

She’s still so overwhelmed and she swallows at the lump in her throat to no avail, blinking out more tears.

The door opens up and she shuts her eyes, because he can’t see her like this. The air is cold against her and she only gets relief a moment later when the door closes again with a gentleness as if he’d closed it himself.

Emma opens her eyes away from him, wiping at her eyes with her hand with haste, pulling on a weak smile when she faces him again.

He shucks off his coat and scarf, everything about him soaking wet, and kicks off his boots.

“Is he okay?” he asks softly.

Emma looks down at the boy and nods, pushing back the chair a little as she stands.

She avoids Killian when she goes back into the bedroom. She puts Henry down into his bed and sits beside him on the floor, clasping her hands in between her thighs to warm them.

She doesn’t want anything but _home_ right now and home is three weeks away.

Killian enters the room a few minutes later, as if sensing that something has changed in her all of a sudden.

She keeps her gaze fixed on the sleeping little boy, envisioning her mother’s smile and her father’s warmth wrapped around her in a hug. It doesn’t help as much as she wants it to.

“What’s wrong, love?” Killian drops beside her, his face filled with worry.

Emma shakes her head. “I just… I want to go home and I can’t.”

Tears come sliding out of her eyes and down her cheeks and Emma sniffs, closing her eyes to let more tears out.

“Just three weeks,” he tells her softly. “It will go by much faster than you think.”

She takes a shaky breath, unable to speak, and shakes her head again. Tears blur her vision when she opens her eyes and she feels him reach out for her.

His touch is hesitant and she flinches a little at first, but then relents, sliding into him as his arm goes around her shoulders.

He holds her while she cries and she feels no closer to better than she did when the feelings became too much when she moves away. The tears are done and her breathing is natural, at least.

When Emma pulls away, she stares at Killian and breathes a laugh as she wipes at her eyes. “Sorry. I don’t cry a lot. I just miss it- home.”

Killian nods in somber understanding. He reaches out to run his hand down her arm a few times, as if she needs him to warm her up.

“Would you care for a hot cocoa?” his voice is gentle and low, practically whispered in the midst of the crashing storm around them. “Might help you sleep.”

It almost makes her cry again, but she manages to hold it together, instead nodding vigorously before Killian rises from the floor and walks out of the room.

Emma has another long look at Henry, wondering for the millionth time just who his parents are and why he was just washed ashore in a basket. Her teeth dig into her lower lip and she pushes up to her feet.

When Emma reaches the kitchen, the storm outside rings loudly in her ears. She wraps her arms around her chest and has a seat at the kitchen table while Killian does his thing.

It takes him all of thirty seconds before he turns around with a mug in his hand. He carries it to the table, sets it down in front of her, and then sits next to her. It’s probably the most comforting thing she’ll get here on this island.

Emma smiles thankfully and wraps her hands around the mug. She stares down at the whipped topping and cinnamon. For someone who doesn’t care, Killian Jones definitely has shown her he does.

“Did Henry come with a note or anything that gave any clues about where he’s from?” she asks, looking back up at Killian.

He seems surprised by her question, but then furrows his brow in thought. “I didn’t… I don’t think he did.” Killian hums. “I didn’t think to look, actually.”

Emma shrugs. “Maybe his basket-?”

Killian doesn’t need her to finish her statement. He stands up and goes to go find the basket he’d tucked away somewhere with Emma’s soiled shoes.

In the meanwhile, she has a sip of her cocoa and closes her eyes to bask in the sounds of the storm around her.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Killian pulls her out of her meditation.

He holds a small envelope wrapped in a plastic bag in his hands. He promptly undoes the packaging that’s secured with tape as if to keep it waterproof.

“How’d you miss it before?” Emma asks. Curiosity rises within her and she feels nerves in the pit of her belly, as if this is going to change anything about their situation at all.

Killian shakes his head. “The boy was crying. I was stressed. Besides, it was hidden on the bottom of the basket, out of sight.”

Emma nods in understanding. She watches on bated breath as Killian scans the front of the envelope.

“To whom it may concern,” he reads. He tears open the envelope and folds open a small note written on what looks like notebook paper. “To whom it may concern: I hereby relinquish my son to whomever reads this letter. I can’t take care of him- it was never something I wanted. I never even gave him a name. I hope you’ll give him a name and a future that I never could. I realize placing his basket in the sea seems like a stupid idea, but I think the sea will bring him home.”

Emma watches Killian look up at her after flipping the page over, as if searching for an end to the note. She shakes her head slowly. “So… his mom’s a mess.”

Killian raises his eyebrows. He sighs heavily and sits down again, settling the note down on the table. “I guess you could say so.” He glances up at her as she sips her drink and her heart skips a beat. “Do you want to keep him?”

Her heart jumps once again in her chest. Of course she’s thought about it. She’s thought about what she’d do if she got home and had the chance to keep him. They’d probably move into a little house and Emma could paint his bedroom and in a few years they could get a puppy or a kitten.

“Um…” Emma takes a breath. “Yeah.” She smiles a little and brushes her hair behind her ears. “I mean, if you don’t-”

“No,” Killian says, doing that pathetic thing he does, smiling half-heartedly before losing it completely. “Can’t very well raise him out here.”

Emma stares at him in silence. Rain crashes against the roof and thunder rumbles nearby. She can hear the chaos in the midst of this night and she knows it’ll be impossible to sleep.

“I don’t suppose the TV works in the middle of thunderstorms, huh?” Emma asks.

Killian laughs once. “No, most certainly not.” He straightens up. “But I do have playing cards if you’d like to play a game.”

Emma holds open her mouth thoughtfully. She shrugs, not sure what _else_ they could do with their time. She’s not tired anymore and the storm would probably keep her up if she tried sleeping.

“Sure.”

///

Killian lets her win, but he doesn’t tell her that. He likes the way her eyes light up, and how she laughs every time victory finds her side.

“I win again,” Emma grins.

She sets her hands down on the table and Killian groans playfully in defeat. “Damn. I was quite close that time, wasn’t I?”

The storm still rages on, but he can tell Emma’s getting tired. She cracks a yawn and he can’t help but mirror the action.

He eyes her afterward, tilting his head back. “Are you ready for bed, then?”

Emma smiles softly. “Hmm. Yeah. What time is it?”

Killian shakes his head. “It’s definitely too late for us to be awake. I know that for certain.”

She yawns again, shorter this time, and eases herself onto her feet. She’s getting better at walking on her own, and he thinks her leg might be healing faster than they anticipated.

Regardless, she waits for him to catch her under his shoulder and he helps her into the other room. The contact makes his stomach flip more than it usually does- probably the result of spending far too much time making eyes at each other and laughing the night away.

“Did you let me win?” Emma wonders.

Killian scoffs. “What kind of a man do you take me for?”

She looks up at him with a wry smile on her lips. “As one who would let me win because I’m feeling homesick.”

Emma stops moving, so he has to as well. His arm falls away from her and she turns toward him.

She tilts her head to the side as if she’s disappointed in him. “You know I didn’t need you to do that.”

“I thought it would help you feel better,” Killian admits on a sigh. He watches her smile kindly. “Did it?”

Emma shrugs. “A little. I guess.”

She searches his eyes and he loses himself in the way her eyes crease at the corners and how gentle the blush colors her cheeks. She’s so beautiful. He’s never noticed it before, really, how completely radiant she looks even with tiredness weighing her eyelids low.

Emma looks away for a moment and returns her gaze as she speaks, “When I get back home, I have to see someone I don’t really want to see.”

Killian raises his eyebrow. “Oh?”

Emma nods. She licks her lips. “His name’s Neal. He and I used to date but we broke up-” Emma grimaces. “Anyway, he wants to get back together because he swears he’s different.” She pauses, this time examining him with a thoughtful glint in her eyes. “I think I was going to say yes, before I ended up here.”

Her admission has his head spinning. He shakes his head. “What changed?”

Emma laughs quietly and shrugs. “I don’t know. Something about being stuck with nothing but my thoughts and Henry-”

She pauses, clearly dealing with something in her heart. She searches his eyes and her jaw tightens just a little.

Killian’s heart softens. He smiles. “You love that boy more than you thought you would.”

Emma has tears in her eyes as she licks her lips and nods. “Yeah.”

He watches her carefully. She doesn’t look away from him for a second, as if he’s more interesting than her tiredness.

Killian, feeling as if he should say something, clears his throat and shrugs. “I admit, I’ve grown more attached to him with time.”

She laughs at that. “That’s good.” Emma stares at him in silence. “Killian, I-”

Before he knows what’s going on, Emma has her fingers gripping his shirt and her lips are on his.

He shuts his eyes and delights in the feeling swelling up inside him. Her fingers slide away from his shirt, instead finding a grip in his hair so they can wreck him in the best way. Killian hears her sighs mix with his own and that’s when he pulls away, breathing heavy as he rests his forehead against hers.

“Emma-” he tries, cursing himself for enjoying that as much as he did. He manages to open his eyes and finds her staring back at him timidly.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, shaking her head. “I thought- I thought we were on the same page.”

She sucks in a breath and steps away from him.

It only takes her a few steps to get into his bedroom and in that time, his heart and brain both scream at him that it’s a mistake if he lets her go to sleep thinking he doesn’t want her as much as he does.

But he’s overcome with grief suddenly, watching her go, listening to the storm around them. It’s all too much.

Killian presses his fingertips to his lips. He can still feel the gentle press of her tongue on his lower lip, can still feel her warm body pressed against his.

“Bloody hell, Killian Jones,” he grumbles, slumping down on the couch. He rakes his fingers through his hair angrily. “You’ve ruined it.”

He almost gets up to promise Emma that her advances weren’t in vain, but he thinks about where they are and where they’ll be at the end of this. She’s going home, to America, and he’s never going to leave this place.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Killian mutters to himself, playing the devil’s advocate on behalf of himself. “You could go with them.”

He likes the picture he sees in his mind’s eye. A family. Emma and Henry.

Killian tosses onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. He thinks of Liam and of the time they’d put into this place. He thinks of Milah and his unborn child. He thinks of leaving all of those memories behind and he physically aches.

He doesn’t know what he’s ready to do just yet and perhaps it’s best if Emma isn’t caught in the middle of that.


	9. Chapter 9

Nine

In the morning, Emma wakes to an unusual smell. Well, for her time here, unusual.

It’s pancakes and coffee. 

She bites her lip as her eyes open, gazing over at the window that allows a soft white light through the curtains and into the bedroom. She sighs as she stretches and then she sits up, wrapping a throw blanket over her shoulders to go into the kitchen.

She checks on Henry before she goes. He’s still sound asleep, his little nose snotty and his fingers twitching in a dream.

When she enters the kitchen, Killian’s standing by the stove with a pan and a spatula, looking every bit the scuffled morning mess he usually is.

His hair looks even _worse_ now that it’s cut, standing on end every which way. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweats and she swears her breath doesn’t catch at the sight of the muscles she finds herself wanting to run her fingers over.

He turns when he hears her feet against the floor and smiles a little. “Morning, love.”

Emma smiles just a little in return. “Morning.”

She’s confused by this whole situation. Everything about it is off, because he’s usually out doing chores right about now and he never spends this much time cooking.

For breakfast, it’s always usually something fast and easy, if anything at all, but this looks like he had to find a recipe and mix the ingredients himself, by the way the boxes and containers line the countertop beside him.

Killian tips his head toward the table. “Made you breakfast. Hope you like pancakes.”

He’s flashing her a smirk before he turns his attention back to the pan in front of him.

Emma goes to sit at the table where he’s put down a plate with three of the round fluffy circles. A mug of what she presumes is hot chocolate sits there, too, with whipped cream and cinnamon topping it.

She would like to not indulge him, maybe return to bed to get more sleep, but sleep had been terrible and she doubts she could fall back asleep if she wanted to. He’s put a lot of effort into this, too, and it makes her heart weak as she reaches for the syrup.

Her stomach gives a prompt grumble of frustration and she sighs, helpless but to give into Killian’s random act of kindness.

Emma takes a few bites of her pancakes, which are delicious, dammit, before he comes to sit by her at the table.

He has himself a mug of coffee and a plate of pancakes that he tops with syrup and she wonders how he’ll eat them before he just goes at them with his fork.

“Why aren’t you out doing your chores?” she asks.

His gaze shifts to her and she feels as if she’s caught him in the act, of what she isn’t sure, because his expression is caught between deer in headlights and guilty.

He sets his fork down and swallows his pancakes with a sip of coffee that he licks from his lips before sitting back in his chair.

“We need to talk.”

Emma narrows her eyes at him. “And are you bribing me with pancakes?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

She presses her lips into a line and sets her fork down, wrapping up tighter in her blanket. She stares at him, letting him have his words.

“There are a lot of things about this situation that aren’t ideal,” he says. “Food being one, Henry’s fragile body being another… the weather.” He shakes his head. “The thing is, Emma, I have spent a long time on this island grieving and I haven’t spent hardly any of it living.”

Her heart flutters and she thinks he must be talking about their kiss.

She’d hated herself for it. She’d been stupid and impulsive, just like she always is, and he hadn’t returned the interest. Well, he had kissed her back, but afterwards the look on his face was _so_ not what she’d expected to see.

Killian sits forward and licks his lips. “I’m sorry I-” He hesitates. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you this last night, but I want to be on the same page as you now.”

Emma’s heart jumps again. Her eyes widen on their own accord. “What page is that?”

He swallows and takes a shaky breath. “It was a good kiss, but I can’t let anything happen between us. I’d rather forget it did and move on, actually.”  

She stares at him in silence for a moment. The only thing that runs through her head is regret, followed by doubt, followed by embarrassment.

He’s staying here and she’s leaving. It would never have worked. What was she thinking?

Was she thinking that one kiss- damn good kiss- could ever bring him to reality? Was she thinking it could have at least shown him that there are things worth living for? Like finding someone to make his cold and hardened heart warm again.

“I… it’s okay,” she insists on a false smile. She looks down at her plate. “It was a one time thing.”

She would like to set fire to these Bribe Pancakes and to her memory, because now she has the distinct memories of what transpired in the middle of his living room flashing in her mind as she contemplates what this means for her and him.

“Yeah. Of course.”

She sets to eating again and tries not to seem rushed, but she knows she’s coming off like it, and when she gets up, he catches her by the arm, looking her in the eye, demanding an answer but not asking the question.

“This doesn’t make the fact that we kissed disappear.”

He furrows his brow. “Of course not,”

Emma’s jaw tightens and she yanks her arm out of his hold. Unexpected tears fill her eyes and she groans a little, biting her lip.

“I’m sorry I’m not good enough.”

She walks out of the room as fast as she can, ignoring the pinching in her knee. He doesn’t say anything, thank God.

It’s still fairly early in the morning. Her breath is a soft white cloud when she exhales and she folds her arms to her chest as she starts to walk toward the beach.

Maybe she is an idiot. She definitely shouldn’t have kissed him.

Now she’s a mess. She shouldn’t be, but she is. Tears streak her cheeks and she sniffs, wiping at her face with the long sleeves that go past her hands.

No one ever thought she was good enough until David and Mary Margaret. Not even Neal really did.

She’s never had a good relationship with a guy until this thing with Killian got to the point of smiles and teasing and comfortable a few days ago.

And now she’s panicking, because she threw it all away when they kissed. It broke their relationship in half, sending them in a completely new direction. And it’s not like she’ll ever be able to just forget about it. Especially if they’re living together.

She’s now standing at the shoreline where the water washes up in slow, rolling waves.

She stares out at the water around her and closes her eyes, breathing it all in. The salt fills her lungs and the cold, crisp air stings, but it reminds her that she is still alive and that means she has less than three weeks to prove that very same fact to Killian.

The front door clatters shut after squeaking open and she doesn’t turn around.

She stands there waiting for something, anything, before she hears his boots behind her and then she feels something warm being draped around her shoulders.

She reaches up instinctively and smiles a little in thanks at him over her shoulder while she slips her arms into the coat. He moves so he stands beside her, both of them looking away from each other.

“I think you’re good enough, Emma.” His voice is quiet.

She turns her face to see him. He is looking out at the horizon, his eyes and jaw set.

“I don’t know why I said that.”

He turns to her, a perfect mixture of sorrow and grief in his eyes. “The reason I wanted to put it behind us was because I feared you would be the one to pull away.”

She scoffs. “So you were being chivalrous, then?”

He shakes his head. “I’m just trying to say that neither of us were quite prepared for the repercussions and we need to take some space to figure it out.”

Emma sighs. “And just what do you think should be done about that?”

She tugs at her coat and folds her arms. “I think we should go back to the way things were. I’ll take the couch. You and Henry in the bedroom. Chores in the morning and we don’t see each other until lunch.”

She stares at him, biting her cheek because she wants to refute that it is impossible to be back to the way things were. She’s kissed those lips and she’s felt his hair under her fingertips. Somehow, he’s ruined her for anyone else.

“Okay,” she sighs, letting a cloud of white fill the space between them.

He tips his head back toward the house and she nods. They walk back in silence and go about their separate business after the door comes clattering against the doorframe.

She goes to Henry and he goes to his lighthouse.

They don’t see each other until lunch and she forces herself to smile, forces herself to let go of all of the emotions she’s feeling toward him and about him, and casually goes about her day, which mainly consists of cleaning and laundry.

By the time dinner rolls around, she has tidied and re-tidied the entire place twice over and has set the table for grilled cheese she made for herself and for Killian, because dammit, she’s not going to let him starve. He’s an idiot for thinking she’d let that happen.

He comes back inside and sighs, obviously happy to be out of the cold. She has Henry in her arm at the table, feeding him as she reads over a play by Shakespeare that he’s annotated quite liberally.

“Grilled cheese,” she tells him, closing the book and setting it on the side of her plate by the wall. He looks at the plate and she can tell he’s about to say something, so she speaks instead, “You’re an idiot if you think I’m the kind of person who lets another human starve just so I can feel full. There’s enough for both of us to have small meals. Just… no more pancake surprises.”

He nods as he sits down. They eat in silence and she bites her lip while she watches him finish.

“Did you go to college?”

He looks shocked by her question, a little confused, and then he shakes his head. “Straight into the Navy. Why?”

Emma takes the book and opens it up. “I’ve been reading a few of your books and I’m kind of blown away by all of these notes on the side. Do you like literature?”

She knows the answer to her own question, she’s just digging.

He gives her a crooked smile. “I do. Liam used to read a lot to me growing up.” He looks down at the pages and hums. “Shakespeare. Very good taste, darling. Though, you could’ve picked a comedy. Macbeth is about as dark as they come.” She watches with a small smile as he lifts the book and fingers over the pages. “Here we are. One of my favorites. The Taming of the Shrew. Lovely tale.”

Emma hums, admiring him as he reads over his writing on the side. “Have you ever written anything?”

Killian looks up at her and nods slowly, tentatively. “I’ve never shared with anyone, but I have.”

She smiles softly. “I’m sure it’s good, if what you write on the side of an already existing piece of work is good.”

He chuckles in a self-pitying way. Clearly, he doesn’t think so.

“Would you care to read some?” he asks, seeing that she won’t let it go.

She nods.

Killian pushes back from the table and rises, going straight into the living area. When he returns, he holds a leather bound notebook in his hand, opened to a specific page that he reads from. He holds it to himself as he sits down.

“Promise you won’t tease me.”

Emma rolls her eyes. He hands her the notebook then and she smiles as she reads it over.

His writing is beautiful. It rises and falls perfectly in every line. She is drawn in by the vocabulary and the phrasing, taken by the imagery and the sophistication. She swears he could be famous one day because of it.

She grins, looking up at him. “This is amazing, Killian. You have a real talent for this.”

He looks a little embarrassed, shaking his head. “I doubt that greatly, love. But thank you for the ego boost of confidence.”

She sighs. “As if you need more of that.”

That makes him chuckle and a smile crosses her lips as she looks back into the journal, flipping the page to find more of his work.

It’s so good that she barely realizes that she’s still holding Henry until he stirs and grabs at her hair. She rips her eyes out of a short story involving a lost ship at sea and looks to Henry.

“Chill out, Dude.”

She takes his small fist from her hair and makes him hold her fingers instead. She smiles softly and looks up at Killian, who has his chin in his hand, staring straight at her.

“Just who are you, Emma?”

She flashes a coy smirk at him. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She returns to reading with a teasing smile on her lips. The air between them is comfortable, surprisingly enough. She bites her lip as soon as she finishes a story and looks at him again.

“It’s really good, Killian. You could publish this.”

He shakes his head, grimacing a little. “It’s nothing.”

She sighs.

They’re both fighting each other. They’re both unwilling to open up. They want to. She knows he wants to accept her compliments but he’s keeping himself closed off.

She closes his book and their eyes lock before she drops her gaze. She can’t let him in. It’s clear to her more now than ever before.

He’s been good at keeping a relative distance from her, but she sees something in the blue of his eyes that’s begging to know her.

Emma packages all of the feelings she’s felt in the last twenty-four hours into a tight ball, tucking it away in the back of her mind and leaving it to rot. She can’t let him wreck her like everyone else has. She’s a survivor on her own and she can handle herself. Anyone else just doesn’t do the job she can on her own.

She pushes back from the table and takes her dishes to the sink before she carries Henry into the other room.

When she returns, Killian is still at the table, clearly in thought as he follows her to the sink. He comes up next to her and she glances over when their shoulders brush.

There’s still that spark between them, the intensity is still just as strong, just as provoking, and it isn’t easy to ignore along with everything else, but she does her best, holding her breath as she takes their dishes and scrubs at them.

He leaves her to her work and the next time she sees him, it’s lunch the next day.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an: thank you guys so much for your support! I hope you like this chapter! Things are starting to get quite interesting :)

Ten

By the middle of the second week, Emma has taken to reading for most of the day. It’s a decent way to pass the time, but she gets bored sometimes of it.

Her leg is healing very nicely and she’s able to walk around without having to sit and take as many breaks as she had the week prior.

Killian is impressed at how well she’s getting on now, too, and he teases her that she could probably help him with his busywork, but she rolls her eyes and tells him that it’s his job. She has Henry and cooking and cleaning.

If anyone had told her two weeks ago that she would be becoming a stereotypical housewife for the better part of a month, she would not believe you. Her life has always been busy.

She’s an officer in Storybrooke with her father, who is the sheriff of their little town. It’s not a busy place to be a police officer, but it suits her well enough. She gets plenty of time off and she spends a lot of time helping her mother with mayoral activities. The woman is a saint, but sometimes she does need someone to help her balance such a heavy workload.

Emma makes oatmeal for herself one morning with Henry sitting on the floor. He’s growing fast and she would like to know how old he is, but she’s not a pediatrician or whatever, so she just takes the fact that he can sit on his own as a good sign and lets him do it a lot. She guesses it’s a good thing for him to work those stomach muscles.

She has him playing with a makeshift doll she fashioned out of old shirts of Killian’s and he’s sitting on a blanket with a pillow behind him in case he topples over. He is a cute little boy, with his little dimples and his babbling.

The door opens up with a squeal and comes clattering back as Killian steps inside. He looks over at her with worry in his eyes. “We’ve got some unwelcome company.”

Emma furrows her brow. “What do you mean?”

He shakes his head. “Every so often, a ship of pirates comes off the coast of the island. I’ve never dealt with them directly- usually I have to signal back to the mainland for help, but since I’ve disarmed our radio, we need to make all appearances that we are not home.”

Emma’s heart stutters and fear fills her belly.

“Okay,” she says slowly, looking at the stove. She flicks it off and moves the pot to keep it from burning.

Killian already is setting about getting the lights turned off and ousting the fires.

Emma bites her lip and crouches down to gather Henry up into her arms. He chatters in her ear and she smiles, setting her palm to his belly as she gives his cheek a reassuring kiss.

“Come on, baby. We’re going to play somewhere else.” She walks him into the living room where Killian enters in from the bedroom.

“The fires are out. Hopefully they haven’t seen the smoke yet.”

Emma nods.

He looks at her and tips his head toward the bedroom. “Why don’t you and Henry hide out in there in case something happens?”

She dips her brow. “What about you?”

He goes over to the bookshelf, digs into a box he keeps higher up, and removes a gun and it’s components.

“I should keep watch. I’ll be fine, love.”

Emma wants to argue, but he comes up to her and presses a kiss to her forehead, his hand against her arm. She squeezes her eyes shut, not realizing that she would be so worried over something that the circumstances are so unclear over.

It hits her as he’s leaving a kiss to the top of her head that he’s trying to comfort her- that maybe he’s worried about the end.

She watches him as he walks away, then takes a shaky breath. “Be careful, Killian.”

He turns, his eyes filled with anguish and determination. He pulls on a serious frown and nods. “Stay hidden. It shouldn’t be long.”

Emma holds the back of Henry’s head and walks with him into the bedroom, shutting the door. She carries Henry over to the bed and sits him down, taking a few steadying nervous breaths as she stands by him, watching his curious little eyes and his soft brown hair. She smooths it over, crouching down in front of him to play.

She’s nervous for them because Killian seemed _off_. He seemed like he didn’t know what to do. He seemed scared and worried and- usually he isn’t that way at all. There’s something fundamentally scary to him about these people that have come to invade his home and therefore it is terrifying to her.

Emma wonders what he’s doing, if he’s sitting out in the kitchen or if he’s going to go outside. She can’t really hear much of what’s happening, if anything, and it produces a sinking feeling in her gut as she keeps Henry occupied.

After a little while, she hears something. It’s shouting, she thinks, but she can’t make out the words for the life of her, and she bites her lip as she gathers up Henry in her arms and goes to the opposite side of the room, ducking to hide as best she can behind the bed. She holds Henry tight to her chest, determined that she will protect him at all costs.

She hears gunfire and her eyes widen, holding the little boy ever tighter, especially when he whimpers fearfully. He can clearly sense that something is going on, so she puts her hand over his ear and her chest against his other, allowing him to listen to her pounding heart instead.

“It’s okay,” she hushes him. “We’re going to be okay. Killian is going to take care of us.”

Emma clamps her eyes shut. She doesn’t know if she actually believes that or if it’s just something to say because she needs to hear it from someone. Her breaths are shaking and shallow when the bedroom door opens.

Fear crawls along her skin and she licks her lips, recalling her training as an officer, prepared to fight, planning on putting Henry under the bed to protect him before making her move and grabbing the shovel against the wall to use as her weapon.

She hesitantly looks over her shoulder, expecting the absolute worst.

Relief fills her chest at the sight of Killian standing there instead.

She stands, moving across the room. “What happened? I heard shots.”

He presses his lips into a line. “They approached and I took care of them.”

He clearly isn’t very distressed about it, though he’s trembling a little, she notices as she takes him in fully.

Emma nods slowly. “Are they gone for good now?”

Killian nods. “For now at least. They’ve taken my warning.”

She bobs her head and suddenly decides to wrap her arm around his neck, burying herself in his hold. He tightens his arm around her and she hears him sigh.

“I was worried about you,” she admits softly. “Thank you for protecting us.”

“It’s what needed to be done, love.” he says. “How is he?”

Emma shuts her eyes and breathes him in. She takes a step back, looking at Henry as he hangs over her hip. He chirps and babbles, making her smile as she tugs at his little outfit.

“He’s good.”

Killian smiles softly when she looks at him, reaching out to tug at Henry’s foot. “That’s a lad. Did you keep Emma safe for me?”

Henry makes a noise that makes them both laugh.

“He’s too sweet,” Emma hums, brushing over his hair. She kisses the crown of his head and she smiles when he decides to collapse against her collarbone with his hands clutching at her.

When she looks over at Killian again, he’s admiring her with eyes she’s seen more often lately.

He’s been getting better with Henry, but the little boy still prefers her company to his, probably because Killian refuses to hold him for very long. He helps when he wakes up crying the middle of the night and sometimes sings to him and plays with him in the evenings when they’re all gathered in the living room with nothing else to do.

“How are you?” she asks him. “Did they hurt you or anything?”

He shakes his head, a smile playing at his lips. “I was the better arm.”

“Thank you,” she says again, seriously.

He nods once, swallowing. “Aye.” They stare for a moment and the tension between them builds. “How about you, love? Are you alright?”

She takes a breath and nods. “Yeah. I am. Just a little shaken up, I guess, but- I’m just glad nothing happened to you.”

His eyes are full of longing and it’s ridiculous.

She feels herself drawn closer to him and her fingers trail down his jaw. She stills, looking at him with big eyes when he reaches for her hand.

“Emma,” he breathes out, shaking his head slightly.

She feels her chest tightening and she doesn’t know what to say. She pulls her hand away and swallows at the lump in her throat.

He looks at her for a long few moments, then steps a little closer to her. He pauses and cups the back of her head with his hand, leaning his lips into her forehead.

“I’m glad you’re alright.”

Killian turns to go and Emma finds herself smiling in spite of the fact that she has a tension in her chest that reminds her that this is the man who wanted to be alone and was alone for years before she came into his life.

She walks Henry out into the kitchen and plays with him as she warms her half portion of breakfast and some milk for him. She knows it can’t be good for him, but it is all they have that seems like something he can eat without injuring himself in any way.

He cries when she puts him down for even a second and she frowns, lifting him back up to soothe him.

“It’s okay, Henry,” Emma promises. “There aren’t any bad people here anymore.”

After she eats and feeds Henry, she sets about making him a bath after lighting the fireplaces again.

She laughs with him when she has him sit in the tub. He’s happy to be in the water and he splashes her far too much, but she doesn’t mind. Emma spends quality time scrubbing his hair and putting bubbles onto his nose to make him giggle.

Maybe being a mom isn’t such a bad thing. In fact, she kind of likes it. A lot.

She wraps Henry up in a big warm towel and dries him off, cuddling with him on her way back to the living room. He is very little, and very excitable, she notices as she lies him down on the couch.

She hears the front door open and close as she’s wrapping Henry’s make-shift diaper over him, smiling as he watches her with curiosity. Emma pokes his belly and he flails his legs, making her laugh.

“You are a very lucky boy, Henry. And I’m lucky that I met you.”

She strokes up at his hair, making it into a little wispy mohawk before she pulls him into an outfit created by one of Killian’s tee shirts.

He kicks his feet in the air and she kisses all along his little face, making eating noises and smiling down at him when he clutches at her hair.

“Hey, I love you, little guy. Do you know that? I love you.”

Henry just blinks at her.

“I’m going to love you for a long time,” she says. Her heart races, because she’s never loved anyone like this before and maybe this is the start of a new trend in her life. “I promise nothing is going to hurt you as long as you and I have each other.”

Emma gives him another kiss to his cheek and sits down with him in her lap, pressing his little back against her, holding her hand against his belly while one of his hands examines her other one.

She breathes him in and glances up, finding herself looking at Killian leaning against the doorframe. She wonders how long he’s been watching her when he unfolds his arms and crosses the room.

Killian sits beside her on the sofa and she turns to look at him with a cautious smile.

“Did you finish working?” Emma wonders as casually as she can.

He nods and looks down at Henry when he chirps. Emma smiles, lowering a kiss to his head.

“He’s a noisy fellow, isn’t he?” Killian asks, smiling a little.

Emma laughs, nodding in agreement. “I think he’s happy. He likes having baths.”

Killian reaches in and strokes Henry’s soft cheek with the back of his hand.

“You’re good for him,” Killian tells her softly. “You make a good mother.”

Emma feels a blush as she glances over at him. He smiles at her.

“Maybe it was fate, or something,” Emma muses. She turns her attention onto Henry and smiles softly. “I mean, since it’ll probably never happen organically, maybe he and I coming here together was meant to be.”  

When Emma looks up at him, Killian furrows his brow at her.

Emma laughs quietly. “You know, because I do so much better on my own. I chase off decent guys and cling to stupid ones.”

He hums. “And where do I fall in that spectrum?” She opens her mouth, her ears reddening and words not coming forward. He chuckles lowly, resting his hand against her thigh. “I see.”

Emma tilts her head. “You’re different. It was just a kiss. I don’t think that constitutes as being on the spectrum.”

He tips his head to the side in thought.

Her jaw falls open in defense of herself and she shakes her head. “We’re only going to be here for another week and a half, Killian.”

He stares at her and sighs, pushing his head down so he stares at his lap. “I know.”

Emma bites down on her lip and stares at Henry. He’s sleepy, his head drooped and his eyes shut.

“When we leave, what’s going to happen to you?” she asks boldly. “Are you going to stay here?”

Killian stares at her, his gaze unfailing. “Emma-”

She sighs. “If you can’t tell me you don’t want to come with me, then it’s not worth the heartache.”

Emma manages to smile at him, regardless of the feeling in her chest. She stands up to take Henry into the bedroom for a nap and as she stares at the boy in his cradle, she thinks about the absurdity of it all.

Determined, she marches back out into the living room and faces the sofa where Killian’s still sitting.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

He looks up at her and shakes his head.

“I don’t want to know the stories about the people you’ve lost,” Emma says. “I want to know why you think you’re incapable of being around other people.” When he doesn’t respond, Emma continues to push. “You know that you’re not cursed, right? You’ve had some horrible stuff happen to you, but that doesn’t mean it’s a curse and that everyone you care about has to die.”

Killian clenches his jaw and stands up so he has more of an upper hand.

“Because I’m not ready to let anyone in.” He says firmly. “And just because you’re here, Emma, and just because we’re friends, it doesn’t mean I’m ready-”

“You keep telling yourself that and you’re never going to have a life,” Emma argues. “When you’re dead, you’re dead. You’re not alive so you can act dead.”

She’s so wound up about it all that she feels her chest heaving. She looks away from him before she walks away. She goes into the bedroom, but she knows they’re not done with this fight, even as she lays down on her side and faces Henry’s cradle against the wall.

///

The couch is an uncomfortable bed, but he’s gotten more or less used to it in these past few days. He drags a blanket over him and stares at the wall before him.

His heart races and his mind is a blur as he considers Emma’s frustration over his choices. Maybe he’s being stubborn, but it’s for good cause. His life has been one disaster after another.

Killian thinks about Liam, how strong his brother had been up through the end of his life. Liam probably wouldn’t want him wasting his life away just as much as Emma doesn’t.

On a grimace, Killian shakes his head. No, Liam’s gone, so he doesn’t get to have opinions, and Emma barely knows him.

But still, it feels like he’s falling into the deepest, darkest pit and he’s never going to be able to get out. The heart of him cries out in silence, begging him to follow Emma and Henry away from this island.

It _terrifies_ him, the thought of living a life away from here. Especially after stranding himself here for so long.

But, he thinks it might be worth it. Emma might be worth it.

///

Emma wakes up to the sound of Killian’s voice.

Her eyes open slowly and she realizes in a jolt of awareness that he’s sitting at her side, his fingers pressed against her arm. The room is softly lit by early dawn’s glow, and she’d think nothing of Killian being here, but they did just have pirates and an argument.

Emma pushes herself upright. Her eyes blink open wider and she forces herself to wake up as she asks, “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

She places her hands between her thighs and looks up at Killian, who’s sitting there in silence. He wears an expression on his face, something sorrowful knitting his brow.

Suddenly, he slides his fingers down her arm until he finds hers. Emma’s eyes meet his in surprise and he smiles slightly.

“There are reasons,” he tells her. “Reasons I didn’t pursue you when I had every opportunity.” He scans her face with determination. Clearly, he’s trying to fight something in his mind. “But I’m tired of waiting on the demons from my past.”

With her heart in her throat, Emma struggles to keep her head on straight. This is such a sudden and random thing to say, but she sees dark circles under Killian’s eyes, as if he’d been up all night thinking about the weight of the world that rests upon his shoulders.

She licks her lips. “I… don’t-” Emma pauses. She shakes her head. This is something she never would have expected. Her fingers fit easily between his and she stares down at them with her heart still racing. “Killian, I don’t want to get hurt when I can leave.”

He smiles a little, his eyes absolutely flattering her with the way they light up with adoration. “I don’t know if I’m ready to leave, but I know I want to keep you in my life.”

She tilts her head, resting it on her shoulder. “Killian-“

He smiles as he mirrors her, clearly captivated by something about her.

“I’m terrified of what this means, but I want to be with you, Emma.” Killian says solemnly. “When we kissed, it exposed something.” Her gaze shifts back to his. Her heart races at the words tumbling from his lips. “I never thought I’d be capable of letting go of my first love, of my Milah, to believe that I could find someone else, that is, until I met you.”

Her heart squeezes tight in her chest and she feels tears for no actual reason prickling at the surface. And she knows he’s being serious, because of that look in his eyes. He actually is saying these things to her.

Emma takes a deep breath, like the moment before taking the plunge, and leans in close to him. He’s warm and kind when he kisses her, not prodding or demanding a single thing from her.

And as she kisses him, for real this time, she feels something she hasn’t had in a very long time. She feels hope.


	11. Chapter 11

Eleven

Henry is happy when she finds him in the bright of the morning, cooing and kicking his little feet.

She laughs softly, then lifts him up to hold him while she pads into the kitchen. The house is relatively cold, thanks to the winter weather, and Killian hasn’t gotten up yet to put a fire on.

“Maybe when Killian smells breakfast he’ll get up.” Emma says to Henry who just grins at her happily, little creases by his baby blue eyes. He holds his fist in his mouth and sucks on it as if it’s a lifeline.

Emma settles Henry down on the floor with his blanket and his toys while she works, humming a little to herself while she considers the realities of this life.

She could probably do this for a long time, she realizes. Slowing down, settling down, and having a family is certainly not the lifestyle she’d thought she’d have, but it’s good to know that she’s cared for and will absolutely have a friend every single day, even if she doesn’t deserve one.

She misses her parents. She misses her friends. She misses long walks on warm nights by the harbor. She misses ice cream with her dad after work before dinner. She misses hot chocolate with cinnamon at Granny’s.

She misses home.

As much as she likes to imagine herself here, she can’t. She hasn’t had a decent shower in a long time and the food situation sucks. Weirdly enough, she misses her clothes and the collection of pillows on her bed.

There’s so much she had to be thankful for back home. Being here, with Killian, has shown her that much at least.

Emma considers Killian for a moment. She still isn’t sure what he wants. She isn’t sure if he’s going to stay with her no matter what his head says, or if he’ll stay out of fear.

Killian comes into the room with his bare feet clicking against the flooring and she looks over at him with a soft smile that he mirrors. He’s wearing sweats that hang low on his hips and his hair is jutting upward, eyes wincing a little at the light. He wraps his arm around her and pulls her into him with ease.

She stares up at him, biting at her lip while he smiles at her, and for a short, delirious second, she dreams of a future that he does this everyday.

Emma laughs, her eyes widening slightly when she realizes just how close he is to her. “What are you doing?”

Killian continues to grin at her sleepily. “Good morning, love,”

“Good morning,” she says breathily.

He smirks at her, then glances over at the oven as she slides her hands down his arms.

“Ah, eggs. My favorite.” He wriggles his brows at her and she gives him a look, but he wipes it away with a kiss to her cheek that burns pleasantly afterwards.

He slips away from her and she watches him crouch down on the floor with Henry, her heart squeezing as he lifts the boy up and makes him giggle.

Killian sits down at the table with Henry in his lap, talking to him about something in a sweet, low tone, and she swears it’s more like home than anything has ever felt in her entire life.

When Emma dishes up two plates of eggs, she takes them to the table and has a seat by Killian while he tickles and teases Henry. She smiles softly to herself and cuts into her eggs.

Killian stares at her after a few moments, his smile still happy and warm. “Would you like a tour?”

Emma gives Killian a confused look. “I’m pretty sure I know this place better than you do.”

Killian laughs. “No, no.” He tilts his head back just a little. “The lighthouse.”

Emma’s heart skips a beat at the prospect. She hasn’t ever been out to the lighthouse. She just knows he spends full days out there, doing who knows what. Killing time, she suspects.

“Oh,” she says. She manages a smile. “Yeah. If you want to. I know you like to do things out there.”

“What do you think I do?” Killian asks.

Emma shrugs. “I don’t know. You just… disappear.”

Killian shakes his head. “Well, we’ll head out after breakfast and put your mind at ease.”

///

Emma holds Henry in her arms while Killian guides them out to the lighthouse. He keeps an eye on them, eager to see their expressions when they enter his beloved lighthouse.

Emma’s dressed in one of his coats, his hat snug on her head. She’s adorable like this, cold but bundled up warm. Henry’s been secured in everything they could manage to wrap around him.

“When we go back, I think he’ll be really happy to know clothes aren’t all oversized men’s shirts.” Emma had muttered to Killian’s responding laughter.

As they approach the lighthouse, Killian licks his lips.

“Now, I want to apologize ahead of time for the look of it,” Killian says. “It could be better.”

Emma hums playfully. “I’ll be reporting you to the proper authorities as soon as I’m out of here.”

Killian laughs. He’s glad they’re able to engage one another like this. Glad they’re able to be _friends_ as much as partners in this situation they’ve found themselves bound to.

He shakes his head and sets his hand on the door handle. “Just give me grace, Swan.”

Emma’s smile is soft. She nods her head. “Of course.”

Nerves pinch at his belly as he opens the door. They step inside and Killian clears his throat, the sound echoing against the walls slightly.

“Alright. Emma, Henry,” he smiles. “Welcome to the lighthouse.”

Emma looks around, awe in her expression, and she scans the room. “Wow. So this is where you hide out all day.”

Killian rolls his eyes. “It’s just an extension of the house. Not really that big of a deal.”

“Hm,” Emma keeps a neutral expression. She goes to the desk and leans against it, craning her head back so she can look upwards. “Can we go up?”

“Aye. Of course.”

And they do. Emma doesn’t speak, something that curiously makes him even more anxious. When they stand on the landing with the light, Emma immediately goes to look out at the water.

“Wow,” she breathes. “It’s huge.”

“Aye,” Killian murmurs.

He stares out at the water, trying to do it with fresh eyes, as Emma might be seeing it. It’s vast and empty. It’s lonely.

Killian turns to look at Emma after a few moments of silence. She has tears in her eyes and she swallows, turning away from the view to instead look at the light.

“So is this the light?” she asks, clearly trying to ignore the fact that her emotions had the best of her.

Killian frowns. “Are you alright, love?”

Emma shakes her head. “I’m fine.”

Killian gives Emma a look, lifting his eyebrows. “Tell me the truth. No use keeping secrets.”

For a moment, she hesitates, worry in her eyes as she looks away from him.

“I just miss home,” she tells him finally. “Nothing I can fix right now.”

It makes him feel bloody awful, but there isn’t anything that can be done. She’s here with him until help comes.

Killian takes a deep breath and glances out at the water. It’s terrifying- the prospect of leaving, of having to set sail for the first time in years.

Fear tightens in his throat and he blinks a few times, forcing himself to face Emma and Henry again. Oddly enough, they provide him enough peace to feel as if his world isn’t spinning anymore.

///

In the evening, Emma sits on the floor of the living room listening to a record while Killian sits beside her, skimming through the pages of one of his favorite books.

It’s late. Her eyelids have started drooping and she’s not sure what’s keeping her up, if not the warmth of the comfort of Killian.

She’s going to be able to leave soon. It’s the one thing that keeps her going. She doesn’t know if Killian will come along, or if she’ll leave this place alone with Henry. It certainly seemed like that would be the case for a while, but with the way things are between them now, she thinks he might be more keen on leaving with her.

Emma drags her teeth over her lower lip as she stares at him now, his attention bouncing from the words on the page of his book to her. It’s like he could sense her eyes on him.

“Will you tell me something?” he asks softly, shifting in his spot to turn toward her more. He sets his book down onto the floor.

She turns his direction, eyes gentle and lips quirked slightly. “What is it you’d like to know?”

Killian pauses thoughtfully. He reaches for her hand and takes it, gently swiping his thumb across the back of her hand. “Tell me about your adoption.”

She’s honestly surprised to hear his words. Of all of the conversation topics, this is one she never would have guessed he’d bring up.

He chuckles softly, his fingers sliding against hers. “Come on, love. I’ve told you all about my miserable past. I’d love to know about your beginnings.”

She smiles, because no one ever really cares this much, and takes a moment to consider what telling him about her past could do. She knows this is new and fresh, and it’s completely different, for all that it is.

They are alone on an island in the middle of nowhere, with no other human contact but with each other and a baby. There isn’t anyone he could go run off and tell, not that he would, and not that she worries he would.

There is just the constant possibility that when she has to leave, she’ll never see him again, that her telling him about herself is pointless chatter to fill the time. It’s the biggest fear she has about being with him.

But, she reminds herself that Killian Jones is no Neal Cassidy. He isn’t a thief who showed up just when she didn’t need him. He isn’t a man who constantly insists upon ruining her every moment after seeing him again.

He is a _friend_ , and an equal. She doesn’t feel young around him, not like she did with Neal. She feels like she can talk to Killian and he will listen, because that is the kind of man he is. He is patient and kind, when he isn’t angry or alone in his wallowing. With her, he’s been relatively _good_.

“I was found on the side of a freeway in Maine,” she tells him with a sigh. “My parents had wrapped me in a blanket with my name on it and that was all they apparently wanted from me, because I haven’t been able to find them.”

Emma looks between them and traces lines against his open palm as she continues. “I lived from home to home for a long time, until I was fifteen. I met my adoptive parents after I got out of an abusive home and I’ve lived with them since.” Emma takes a shaky breath and dares to look up at him. “No one really wanted me before them. I had a family until I was three but they had their own baby and gave me up.”

Emma feels her eyes burning hot like they do when she thinks back on the childhood that she had to live.

Killian looks sympathetic, his brow dipped and his frown sad. He takes his palm from her and wipes at the tears that have slipped free from her eyes and she smiles in thanks. “You deserve so much better than what you’ve been given.”

She hears genuineness in his tone and she nods, because she’s heard it before from Mary Margaret and David, a _lot_ from them, and she knows it in her heart that her parents didn’t abandon her because they hated her. They wouldn’t have made a blanket with her name on it if that were the case.

“Thank you,” she breathes. “I miss them. A lot.”

He searches her eyes and leans forward to kiss her forehead, making her close her eyes and breathe him in deep.

When he slides back, Emma goes to curl up in his lap. She presses her hands to his chest and his arm wraps around her, holding her tight against him. He’s warm and comfortable and safe.

“Tell me something,” she whispers.

She suddenly wants to know _everything_ and anything, and she doesn’t want to fall asleep in fear of the nightmares returning her to the man who burned his cigarettes into her arm and hit the woman who made her cookies for her birthday.

Or to the place where she was left and betrayed a hundred times over again. People and places shifting with each passing day. People never wanting her. People never loving her.

It isn’t like Killian is ever going to be able to give that to her, but at least he isn’t going anywhere right now, and he does care for her enough that he listened and didn’t say anything that showed her that he sided with the evil in her past.

“My father abandoned me when I was a young boy,” he tells her, and she almost laughs, because they’re both pitiful messes. “And you know my mum passed after I was born. I don’t remember her. Liam used to tell me stories about her.“

“How much older was he?”

“Seven years,” Killian says with a smile. “Used to pick on me an awful lot.”

Emma laughs when he chuckles. “Sounds like he loved you a lot.”

“Aye,” he hums. “As much as a brother could.”  

She wouldn’t know what that feels like, but she has an idea that it must feel a lot like friendship, only closer. She can sense it in the way he continues to tell her stories about their time in the Naval Academy, about how he used to pull pranks on him until Killian finally wised up and pulled pranks back.

He has her laughing and forgetting, and for once, she doesn’t feel like she’s stranded on an island with a stranger.

They continue to talk well through the night, about anything, really.

He tells her what it is that he does in that lighthouse of his. She tells him about what her favorite movie that he hasn’t seen in the past four years is.

They discuss music and food, and books and TV.

They speculate and formulate stories about Henry and where he came from, laughing about silly plot lines where aliens sent him to earth from a desolate future to save the human race, but they miscalculated and sent him too far back and attached a letter to his basket to make him sound human.

She knows him now. She knows about who he is and how he is. They’ve shared, intimately, stories and memories. Hurts and aches.

And yet, she doesn’t know if it’s enough.

“I think I should go to bed,” she whispers, gazing at Killian with her head pressed against the back of the couch so she can look at him. Her legs are draped over his lap and their hands are still entwined over her thighs.

Killian searches her face and smiles, nodding slightly. “Aye. It’s late, isn’t it?”

“Hm,” Emma closes her eyes. She licks her lips and then opens her eyes again. With a determined sigh, Emma pulls herself up and cups Killian’s cheek, her thumb caressing his scruff. “Good night.”

Killian awards her a sleepy smile, his eyelids droopy and his voice scratchy and low, “Good night.”

For a second, she just admires him, and then she leans in for a soft kiss. It sends her flying, but she anchors herself, nuzzling his nose in the moments afterwards.

Emma climbs off of his lap and casts him a lingering look on her way to the bedroom. She’s filled with hope, by the look on his face, that maybe he won’t stay here.

She knows he’s leaning towards coming home with her and that’s something that makes her happy, but at the same time, going back to Storybrooke together is something she hasn’t spent enough time thinking about.

What’s going to happen if she shows up with a baby on her hip and a guy holding her hand? Her parents are going to flip. Neal’s probably going to be pissed. The Emma Swan they knew was not the kind of person who would be like this.

Emma’s eagerness fades into something twisted and frustrated as she falls into bed. Nerves tighten her stomach and she puts her hand over her eyes.

“What are you doing?” she mumbles to herself with disappointment.

///

After Emma goes to bed, Killian goes out to his lighthouse.

He slumps down at his desk, pulls open a drawer, and removes the pieces of the radio he’d smashed against the wall of the lighthouse.

He’s been working, slowly but surely, to piece it together. He knows Emma desperately desires to go home, and he only wants her happiness, so if it means losing her and Henry, he wants to be able to give that to her.

With a sigh, he examines his handiwork.

“What’s the point if you’re not going with them?” he asks himself. He slinks back against his chair and scrubs his hand over his face.

It’s been eating at him for a while now. Ever since Emma kissed him, actually, the thought that he might be able to leave this island and go live a life. A life, potentially, with Emma and Henry.

Killian’s heart skips an excited beat. He wants it. He wants that purpose in his life again.

He resigns himself to trying to build again in the morning when he excuses himself to do his chores and when he gets inside, he finds Emma standing in the kitchen, sipping a cup of water.

“Oh, hey,” he breathes.

“Hey,” Emma says, knitting her brow. She approaches him, tilting her head. “You alright? Is the lighthouse alright?”

“Aye,” Killian promises her. “Just… needed to check on it for a moment.”

“Oh,” Emma smiles slightly.

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Killian clears his throat. “Erm… I should get to bed. You too.”

“Yeah,” Emma says. She has a look on her face, one that’s hesitant and nervous.

“You alright, love?” Killian asks.

“Fine.” she insists, forcing a smile. She walks away from him before he can say anything else or question her further.

Perhaps it’s for the best, because Killian finds that he desperately needs rest so he can contemplate his future with the right intentions.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an: thank you for your patience! I've been incredibly busy with life and work, but I finally sat down and finished this chapter. Hope you enjoy!

Twelve

Killian walks into the kitchen before Emma wakes up and he prepares her a small breakfast of oatmeal. He grabs a bottle to fill for Henry and then makes his way into the bedroom with both balanced on a tray.

She’s still sound asleep, so he sits on the edge of the bed and places the tray beside her.

Biting on his lip, he admires the look upon her face. In sleep, she’s even more beautiful. Her eyelashes are soft against her cheeks and she stirs gently, a crease forming in her brow. He wonders if she has nightmares, just like the ones he has. She probably does, considering the life she’s had to lead.

Killian’s hesitation lasts too long, and Emma wakes herself up before he can do the honors himself. She immediately stares up at him, furrowing her brow.

“What are you- is everything okay?” she asks with narrowed eyes. She has awful morning breath and a voice to match, but she’s never been more lovely, with her ratty golden curls and the pillow scars on her cheek.

“Everything’s fine,” he breathes. He smiles because he can’t help himself. “I made you breakfast.” He gestures to the tray and presses it into her lap. “Henry’s got a bottle, too.”

Emma’s expression softens as he explains and she actually smiles back at him. “Oh. Well, thank you, Killian.”

She meets his eyes and he can’t help but admire her, at the way she licks her lips and rubs the sand out of her eyes. She lifts the spoon and he still doesn’t look away, something she notices.

“You okay?” she asks.

Killian feels embarrassment coloring his face and he shakes his head. “I… I was hoping, maybe, tonight we could go on a date.”

Emma sets the spoon back into the bowl and stares at him. Obviously, she’s confused. “A date?”

Killian pulls on a smile to give himself strength and he nods his head. “Aye. A date. Tonight.”

“How?” Emma asks. “Kinda… alone on an island.”

Killian laughs once. “I realize.” He searches her face. “Just… trust me with the details. What do you say, love?”

Emma holds her mouth open in thought. He’d imagined this would go much simpler and smoother- especially considering their interactions the day and night before. She’d been eager to share about their pasts and just as delighted to share in his personal space.

“I…” Emma suddenly breaks out in a grin. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Good,” Killian smiles back. He leans in to kiss her, but thinks better of it, instead kissing her forehead. “I’ve got to go tend to some things. I’ll be back.”

Emma’s eyes shine bright at him as he steps away from the bed. He glances down at Henry where he lies in the cradle and bobs his head.

“See you in a bit.”

Emma laughs at him, a delightful sound, as he continues to step backward to the door. “See you later.”

///

Emma sighs as she examines the tray in her lap. She’s started having doubts, but seeing him as happy as he is makes it hard for her to deny him happiness. She’s not a monster.

She finds that she’s not very hungry, so she gets out of bed and dresses for the day.

Henry’s quiet. He’s not usually like this. Usually, he’s the one calling the shots. With a frown, Emma leans over Henry’s cradle and finds him sleeping, his chest rising and falling with a little noise escaping his nose. She presses her hand to his forehead and her frown deepens.

He’s quite warm. Much warmer than he was last night when she kissed his head.

Emma’s heart rate quickens as her mind races. What is she supposed to do? He’s too little to give medicine to. Is it even a fever? How is she supposed to know?

She begins to worry, the emotion bottling up in her chest tightly. Emma folds her arms against her chest and hurries out of the bedroom into the living area of the little house. Killian isn’t anywhere to be found, which isn’t a surprise.

Emma steps into a pair of boots and grabs a coat before she frantically hurries outside, a grimace on her lips at the freezing cold air nipping at her nose. She can see her breath in the air and she thinks the sky looks like another storm.

Killian is just barely at the lighthouse, so she calls out his name and he spins around, already making his way to her so she doesn’t have to do more work than she needs to.

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asks worriedly.

Emma shakes her head. “He- Henry’s warm. It’s not- I don’t think it’s normal. I’m worried he’s sick.”

Killian frowns deeply. “Is he still asleep?”

Emma nods. “Yeah.”

Killian’s concern carries them both back into the house and into the bedroom, where they both look at the sleeping boy.

Killian feels his forehead. He frowns deeper than before and she can tell he’s not satisfied with the temperature of their boy. He looks at her after a moment of contemplation.

“I don’t have a thermometer suitable for him. I think we should let him rest. When he wakes up we can try and cool him off with a bath.”

Emma nods in agreement. “Okay.”

She lets out a worried breath and he pulls his arm around her to kiss her temple.

“He’s going to be alright, love. You won’t let anything happen to him.”

Emma’s stomach churns, but she manages a smile at him. “Okay.”

He doesn’t look convinced. “He’s going to be fine.”

Emma closes her eyes and presses her hands over her face. “You say that, but look at us, Killian. We’re nowhere near anyone who could actually help him and he’s so _small_ , I-”

“Hey,” Killian holds onto her, forcing her to look him in the eye. “Henry will be fine. We’re not going to panic, Emma.”

Emma nods weakly. “Okay.”

Killian drags his hand over his head and clenches his jaw. “I need to go check on the lighthouse but I will be right back, love. I promise.”

Emma nods and he kisses her cheek before she watches him leave the room. He’s so sure of this, but all Emma can envision is a dark, dark future.

Her stomach aches because she starts worrying and she decides to leave the room, lest she disturb Henry’s sleep. She wonders if this is normal. She isn’t even related to Henry and she is out of her mind scared.

Emma sits at the table, staring at a single line of dialogue on a page of a book she’d been reading. The day had started optimistically- they were going to have a date, and maybe that would have led to something good between them, but instead… she’s worried about Henry.

It doesn’t take very long for the door to open up. Killian enters with a slight smile on his lips. “It’s started to snow.”

She manages a smile back at him. "Really?”

He nods and steps out of his boots, takes his coat off, then comes to join her at the table. “I’m afraid it’s officially winter.”

Emma chuckles. “Do you like the winter?”

He shrugs. “It isn’t a terrible season. Just unruly.”

Emma hums. She stares blankly at the book in front of her again.

She realizes suddenly that he has no reason to particularly like winter. He doesn’t have anyone to share it with. He doesn’t come home to hot chocolate and Christmas movies. He doesn’t get into any holiday season cheer. He’s by himself. It must be sad.

Emma holds her breath as she looks at him. He’s so different than anyone else she’s ever been with. She can tell he cares. He isn’t lacking in that. But he’s still a broken man held together by his clever wit and dripping sarcasm.

She’s sure that the moment she has to leave he’s going to be just like Neal and she’ll never see him again after that. And she’s afraid of it. She’s afraid of losing him. She’s afraid that the work they’re putting forward means nothing. They can play house and talk nice, but no amount of sweet kisses and flirty eyes will guarantee to her that he will be better in any capacity.

So she needs to protect herself. She needs to keep her heart under tight lock and key. Because she knows him well enough to tell that he could be just like the heartbreak of her past and she can’t handle more of it.

“Henry will be fine, love.”

Emma looks up from her book. She blinks a few times at him. “I hope you’re right.”

They work together to get Henry taken care of all day. When he wakes up, he’s crying, clearly irritated and fearful. He’s burning up but clearly has chills and he’s got a runny nose.

It’s all so sudden and overwhelming and she keeps having to pause and breathe, because this is scary and she loves this little boy with all that’s in her.

Killian only warms the water up a little and they bathe Henry together.

He isn’t his cute bubbly self, though he does find it hilarious when Killian carries him into the living room with his tiny fist in his mouth. She has to smile, because Killian is taking care of Henry like a professional, his voice soft and his actions gentle.

She’s carrying Henry’s former outfit and a new diaper along with his old one, and when Killian sets him down on the couch, they function like a machine as they redress him.

Henry apparently loves the attention, because he keeps relatively quiet the whole time, his eyes bouncing back and forth between them as they work and speak.

After they change him, he becomes fussy and tired, so Emma holds him and Killian sings until he eventually falls asleep. He’s still warm, but not as warm as he had been earlier, so Emma puts him in his little bed and goes to sit by Killian on the couch.

He is comforting in this situation, with his kind voice and his fingers that lace so perfectly with hers. He presses his lips to her head and she rests her cheek against his shoulder.

“What do you think it is?” she asks, voice small. His hand strokes at her forearm. It’s the most calm she’s felt in a while.

“Dunno, love,” he sighs. “I’d say the flu, but I’m not sure that the symptoms are the same in babies.”

She hums. “Could be the flu.” She narrows her eyes and gnaws at her lip. They sit in silence for a few moments. “Don’t you have stuff to do?”

He sighs. “Aye. But this is more important.”

Emma dips her brow, sitting up so she can see him. “He’s asleep, Killian. There’s not much he can do asleep.”

He nods. “But you’re very much awake and I know you’re taking this hard, so you need me to stay here with you. Keep you company.”

Emma’s expression softens and she studies his eyes. “Oh.”

He smiles gently, lifting his hand to stroke back her hair. “Believe it or not, not all men are arrogant assholes intending to harm you.”

Emma has to laugh a little, pulling out a smile from him.

And then realization and memories set in and she feels tears in her eyes. She is suddenly weakened by her past; suddenly thrust into the whole reason she shouldn’t be with him in the first place.

She can’t stay here. She needs to go home.

Home is what she’s imagining. Her father’s warm hugs and her mother’s laughter, and they’re celebrating Christmas together and baking cookies and decorating the tree. And it’s beautiful and peaceful and there is no way that a man in the middle of the ocean could ever belong in that setting.

Killian Jones is a lone ranger. He lives for himself and he doesn’t get along with people. He won’t ever want to leave his work for her, his _home_ for her. He won’t ever want to sacrifice this so that he can be with her in Storybrooke, because that’s just the kind of man he is. He has his own world and she has hers.

She doesn’t blame him for that. She does blame herself for ever collapsing into this relationship, because it shouldn’t be happening, and yet it is.

She feels comfortable in his arms. She delights in his laughter and his smiles. He completes the parts of her that hurt, but maybe that’s the worst part.

She allows herself these last few days, because soon, they’ll be parting ways, and right now, her little boy is sick and the only other person in the world who understands how that feels is holding her hand while she cries about everything and anything.

///

He tinkers with the wires and loose bits and pieces for hours while Henry and Emma rest that afternoon. And it _works_.

His heart is in his throat as he calls in. When he gets a reply, he closes his eyes and swallows thickly.

“Mister Smee, it’s good to hear your voice.”

“We were going to come check on you, Jones,” Smee says. “What happened out there?”

Killian sighs. He hesitates for a few moments before pressing the call button and speaking. “A woman and a baby washed up onto the island a few weeks ago. The baby’s fallen ill. I need help as soon as possible.”

For a moment after releasing the button, he waits in silence.

“Emma Nolan?” Smee asks.

Killian manages a small smile and nods. “Aye. That’s her.”

“She’s all over the news. Her parents have been looking.” Smee replies. “It’s good to hear she’s alright.”

Killian doesn’t respond for a moment. “Aye. She’s perfectly fine. You can get a message to her parents that she’s in full health and she’s eager to go home to them.”

Smee laughs into the radio. “Can do, Jones. I’ll be on my way at first light. Not anything tonight with the storm rolling in.”

“Aye,” Killian sighs. “That’ll do fine. Thank you, Smee.”

///

Emma sits up next to Henry on the floor of the bedroom. She hasn’t really eaten all day and she’s exhausted because it’s getting close to midnight, but she needs to watch him. She needs him to be alright.

Emma draws her knees to her chest and buries her face into them, eyes clamped closed.

“Emma?” Killian’s voice pulls her from her half-dazed thought. She looks up. He’s standing in the doorway, a concerned look in his eyes. “I’ve made dinner. If you’re interested.”

Emma manages a smile and nods. “Okay.”

She stands and joins him. When she reaches the kitchen, she finds the table set for a romantic dinner for two, a candle in the middle of it all.

Emma turns to Killian and he shrugs. “You said you’d go on a date with me.”

She has to hide her laughter as he pulls out her chair and when she sits down across from him, he gestures to her bowl.

“Tonight, we’ll be dining on stew and bread. An island specialty.”

Emma closes her eyes and breathes a laugh through her nose as she grabs her spoon to dig in.

They eat in silence for a few moments, with the exception of a romantic instrumental playing in the background. She has to admit, it’s a sweet gesture to get her mind out of Henry and what could possibly go wrong.

With a soft sigh, she looks up at him and finds he’s staring back at her, nervous.

“So, what have you been up to?”

Killian shifts in his chair and shakes his head. “Not much.” He forces a smile, she can tell because it stays at his lips and travels no further. “Been thinking about what a date between us would look like mostly.”

Emma scoffs and shakes her head. “Yeah, well, it probably shouldn’t look like this.”

“Why not?”

Emma shrugs. “It’s late at night and I’m… only thinking about Henry. And about how much I want to go home.” She sets her spoon down in her bowl and covers her face with her hands. “God, I’m sorry, Killian, I’m really sorry, but I’m just… we can’t keep doing this.”

“What?”

She removes her hands and her shoulders sink, her heart feeling heavy. “We’re playing house.”

He immediately stands up, going around the table to kneel beside her chair. He takes her hand and searches her eyes.

“I spent the day fixing the radio,” he says. Emma’s heart jumps in her chest. “So that you can go back home and Henry can get the help he needs, if he needs it.”

“You…” Emma struggles to keep the tears from her eyes. “You fixed the radio?”

Killian nods. “Aye.” He searches her eyes. “Your parents have been looking for you. They want you to come home.”

It’s all so overwhelming. Emma can’t stop the tears from coming and she ends up releasing a harsh breath as she begins trembling just slightly.

“I’m going home?” she asks in a shaky voice.

Killian smiles at her. “Aye. You’re going home, love. You and Henry both. In the morning, a boat will be here and can take you back to the mainland.” He searches her eyes, shaking his head slightly. “And from there, you can hop on a plane home.”

He strokes the back of her hand with his thumb and Emma swallows thickly, wiping at her cheeks with her free hand.

In all of her excitement, she feels a bittersweet sadness weigh on her chest. She shakes her head. “You’re not coming with us?”

For a moment, he just stares at her. He swallows and a smile flinches at his lips. “I… wasn’t sure if you’d want such a thing.”

Emma shakes her head and sniffles as she catches another tear with her knuckles. “I want you to be happy. If that’s here or there…”

Nervously, she stops herself. There’s the chance he’ll say no, that he wants to stay here, and she’d understand, but now that she’s certainly going home with Henry in tow, she feels nothing but joy and that joy is tampered knowing who he was before she came into his life.

He stares at her and she can see the calculations he must be making in his mind about where he is and where he wants to be.

“My parents would be a handful, but it’s not this place,” Emma says, glancing around the musty kitchen and dining area. “You could stay at my apartment. It’s nice. Spacious.”  

Killian takes a deep breath. He’s hesitating a little too much and it breaks her heart.

“You’re too kind, Emma,” he murmurs. He averts his gaze from her and then meets her eyes with the gentlest of smiles. “You and Henry make me happier than I’ve been in a long time.” Her heart swells at the admission and she feels a hot tear slip down the side of her face. She wipes at it hurriedly. “I’ll stay with you. If you’ll have me, that is.”

She can’t help but smile. “Of course I will.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an: I'm back! I hope you can forgive me for the delay in chapter updates! I was super inspired today with where to take the story and I hope that streak continues. :) Enjoy!

Thirteen

Emma wakes up to the sound of low laughter. She opens her eyes, a confused mind making her turn toward the noise.

Beside her in bed, Killian sits up with Henry tucked against his legs as they’re pushed up with his feet flat against the mattress and his knees bent. Killian is playing with Henry, the little boy wearing only his diaper and a big smile. Killian leans in and blows noisy raspberries to his skin, making the boy erupt with delightful noises.

Emma smiles, wiping back her hair. The light is coming in from the window and it’s peaceful.

Henry’s fever had broken at some point before they had gone to bed- probably around one in the morning- and now things are better, things are  _good_.

She’s going home today. They’re  _all_  going home today.

Maybe it’s the reason she’d allowed things to escalate the way they had the night before. Flashes of memories come back to her, enough to warm her cheeks and ears as she contemplates the feeling of joy in her chest that’s almost enough to make her giggle like Henry is.

Killian’s hook is somewhere on the dresser across the room and his chest is still bare, though his necklace clings to his neck for a while before Henry latches onto it.

Killian chuckles and Emma hums, reaching out to tug at Henry’s foot.

“Good morning,” Killian says with a wry grin on his lips.

Emma smiles at him. “Hey.”

Killian looks at Henry. “Look, Henry, Mummy decided to join us.”

Emma smiles a little, her heart jumping at the unfamiliar phrase, watching as Henry babbles, turning to see her after a short while. He looks excited at the sight of her and they laugh when he holds his arms out to her.

Emma sits up beside Killian and takes Henry from him with ease, setting him on her lap in a familiar fashion to Killian. She holds his tiny hands and kisses his forehead, nuzzling her nose against his hair so she can smell the scent of baby on him.

“Hey, baby,” she smiles, leaning back again.

Henry reaches for her lips and she kisses his palm, faux biting on his fingers when he insists upon having her eat him. She rolls her eyes playfully and tugs his hand away after a moment, then turns to see Killian.

He’s gazing at her with a lopsided grin. His hair is matted and it’s almost as if this is the last time he’ll ever get to see her. It’s then that she knows he’s definitely coming with her, that he’s not going to chicken out and stay because it’s easier to.

Emma bites on her lip and presses her chin to his shoulder. She searches his eyes.

“Last night was really…” Emma pauses, a laugh bubbling up in her chest.

Killian hums cheekily. His eyes light up and his ears burn red. He reaches up to scratch the spot behind his ear as he searches for the right words. Having found none, Emma giggles and kisses his shoulder.

“I certainly enjoyed it.” Killian agrees warmly and honestly. His dimples pop forward as he turns his attention to Henry. He looks at her again. “I’ll go make breakfast. We’ve a long day ahead of us.”

Emma nods. “Okay.”

She accepts his kiss, quick and tender, and before she can say anything else, he’s out of bed, pulling on his jeans and shirt, and leaving her alone with Henry.

Emma sighs at Henry, shaking her head to make him giggle. “Are you ready to go home, kiddo? Huh? We’re going to have so much fun when we get home. And we can get you a real bath and real food. And a nice bed and stuffed animals and blankets-” She smiles at the ideas she has. “And your grandparents are going to  _love_ you so much.”

Unable to contain herself, she kisses his forehead again before pulling herself out of bed with him on her hip. She is far too excited that they’re going home.

She’s half-dressed already, having slipped into Killian’s sweater for bed, and she pads out into the living room to carry Henry into the kitchen.

“Hey, so I was thinking and-” She looks up and away from the baby in her arms to see Killian standing by the door with his coat and boots on, looking at them with sad eyes. “Is everything alright? Is it- is the weather doing some weird thing or the lighthouse-“

He shakes his head, cutting her off. Emma braces herself and holds her breath. Killian’s jaw clenches tight and he turns to look out the window for a long moment. “Pirates.”

Emma’s eyes widen and her heart plummets into her belly. This has the potential of derailing their plans, and all she wants today is to go home.

“What should we do? What about the boat that’s coming for us?”

He closes his eyes and sighs. “I don’t know.”

Suddenly, the world is on its head. She reaches up instinctively to protect Henry and her chest heaves as she glances out the window. There are ships, she sees them, with big, terrifying black sails.

Fear runs cold in her blood.

At that moment, a knock at the door jars both she and Killian to action. Emma moves Henry out of the room, going straight for the bedroom where she closes the door behind her.

Tears burn in her eyes and she chokes back a sob. This was supposed to be a happy day. A good day.

She cradles Henry close to her body and paces the bedroom for a moment. She can’t hear anything loud coming from outside of the room, except for footsteps.

The door opens before she can act and she glances around for something to use as a weapon, but she stops short when she sees it’s only Killian waiting for her.

“It’s Smee.” Killian explains. He holds a bag in his hand that he extends to her. “Hurry. Pack this bag with clothes and food for the trip.”

Emma goes blank for a second before she sets Henry into his crib and scrambles to grab everything she thinks they might need. She stuffs them into the bag and then grabs Henry.

She’s breathless as she walks out into the kitchen where Killian waits for them. He’s armed with his gun and a nervous smile.

She isn’t sure how to feel about this. She should be happy, because it’s her way home, but there are  _pirates_  threatening the island and possibly their ride home. Is it even safe?

“Okay. I packed the bag. Let’s go.”

Killian stands there, silent and unmoving, and suddenly dread fills the pit of her stomach. It feels like a bad dream, but she most certainly isn’t sleeping.

“Emma, I have to stay. You and Henry can go, as long as we move quickly-”

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. “Why?”

“I have to protect the island,” he says. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but at least he remains calm and cool headed. “It’s my job.”

“No. No.” Emma shakes her head. “You have to come with us.”

She has a lot of questions and fears, but all she can think about is the fact that they’d gotten so close, and now they’re being forced apart.

“It’s not just the island or the lighthouse,” he tells her. “I’m… protecting you and Henry. You know how dangerous it is when they come ‘round. I don’t want you in danger more than you have to be.”

Her heart breaks at his words and she meets Killian’s eyes with tears in her eyes. “Just… come with us. You don’t have to stay-”

“As long as I can keep them busy, you and Henry can get away without any problems.” Killian says firmly, though he has tears in his eyes too and he seems afraid of what will happen. “I’ll make contact with Smee once it’s over and he can come get me. And we can go home together.”

It makes sense, but it doesn’t help her feel any better.

Emma forces a smile and nods, despite the lump in her throat and the twist in her gut that tells her she’s about to make a huge mistake- leaving him here.

Killian smiles weakly and she knows he is just as broken up about this as she is. As if he can sense that the battle to come isn’t going to be easily won. He sets his gun down on the table and moves toward Emma. His attention goes to the baby on her hip and he reaches in to smooth his hair before he kisses Henry’s forehead.

“You be a good boy, Henry. Keep a close eye on Emma for me.”

Emma releases a quiet shaky breath, her limbs weak and her heart heavy.

Killian buries his face in Henry’s hair and breathes him in deeply before giving him a few more kisses. He presses his nose against Henry’s forehead, closes his eyes, and she wants to cry, but she’s also so strong and she can’t let Killian see her like that.

When Killian promises Henry that they’ll see each other again, she knows it’s already a broken promise. It just is.

She takes a deep breath and steadies herself before she manages to meet Killian’s gaze again. She didn’t think she’d be saying goodbye to him today.

It’s the last thing she wants to do, but she also knows it’s the right thing to do. If she wants to get off this island in one piece, to home, to her parents, then she has to take the ship waiting outside and get the hell away from here.

Killian stares at her with apology in his eyes, words that should just be kept unsaid resting on the tip of his tongue, and she stops them with a kiss.

It’s heartbreaking and passionate. She’s pressed up on her toes and he has a hand against her elbow, her hand on his neck and in his hair, desperation in the way she closes her eyes. She doesn’t want to let go.

Emma presses her nose against his after, his forehead pressed into hers. Their breathing is heavy and she curls a fist against his chest where she can feel his beating heart. This is the hardest thing she has ever had to do.

“Emma,” he whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Emma says, taking a half step back. She wraps her arm around his waist and rests her ear over his heart so she can hear it one last time. “Don’t be sorry for being brave.”

She feels his chin against the top of her head and she takes a breath of him to remember him by. His fingers curl in her hair and she clamps her eyes shut.

This was just always going to be for a few weeks, wasn’t it? They weren’t ever going to make it past the island. He was always going to stay and she was always going to go.

“We best get going,” Killian says then.

Emma nods in agreement and gathers herself and the bag to go.

He walks with her outside and he introduces her to Mister Smee. The man is short and sweet, a little red cap on his head and a nervous tick in the way he seems to just fall to Killian’s commands. The boat is kind of small and she is assured by Killian that it will be sturdy enough to take them to the mainland.

She smiles a little and nods. Mister Smee excuses himself to start the engine and Emma sighs, looking at Killian one last time so that she can never forget this man who took her in when he didn’t have to.

Somewhere, in the near distance, pirates loom, and she knows it’s only a matter of time before they’re here and Killian will need to defend himself. Alone, on this island.

She doesn’t know what else to say. With the pressure mounting with each passing minute, she realizes they need to hurry and leave.

“Killian, I…”

He’s staring at her with sadness in his eyes and he shakes his head slightly before wrapping her in a hug that lasts only a few moments. He pulls away after a second, much to her chagrin, and gestures to the boat behind her.

“Go,” he tells her. “We’ll be in touch soon.”

Emma nods. She climbs onto the boat with the help of Mister Smee’s extended hand, and stares watching Killian as they pull away from the island. She watches his gaze switch from her to the horizon, to the ships drifting near, and Emma nervously watches him go inside the house.

She turns to go into the boat where Smee controls the small ship. As soon as she enters the area, they’re rocked by an explosion of a sort. Emma holds the back of Henry’s head and widens her eyes as she stares at Smee.

“What’s happening?”

Smee shakes his head. “Nothing to worry about, milady. We’ll be alright. We’re almost out of their proximity now.”

Emma feels uneasy, so she walks to the door and peers outside, looking toward the island.

She’s afraid. She’s afraid of losing him. She’s afraid that she’s abandoning him to his fatal demise. She should have stayed. She should have fought with him.

“He’ll be alright, Miss.” Smee says. “Jones is the strongest man I’ve ever known.”

The words should be soothing, but the only thing on Emma’s mind is that she should have told him she loves him while she had the chance.

///

With Henry finally asleep against her, Emma watches as the land draws ever closer through the windows all around the small cabin. She can see a crowd of people waiting for them, a curious thing.

Emma furrows her brow and stands up, moving to stand beside Smee in order to see what awaits them. “What’s happening?”

Smee smiles a sheepish smile. “The world’s been looking for you. As soon as Jones told me you were with him, I couldn’t help but tell somebody.”

Emma’s eyes widen and a nervous feeling sits heavy against her chest. Her belly flips. What if her parents are here?

“ _Oh_.”

Smee gives her a smile. “Nothing to worry about, Miss.”

They’ve come alongside the dock now, and Emma can hear the voices of the people outside, many of them calling for her. She adjusts Henry and grabs her bag.

“Are you ready?” Smee asks.

Emma manages a smile and takes a breath. She isn’t ready, but there’s no other choice, is there?

“Yeah.”

Smee leads the way outside, his gentle kindness something that she clings to, alongside the comfort of Henry in her arms, squirming as he starts waking from his nap.

Initially, all she can see is reporters and cameras, hear their questions and the snapping of lenses. She’s overwhelmed in a second.

“Emma, where did you go?”

“Who is the baby?”

“Are you alright?”

Emma blinks, her jaw falling open as Henry wakes up fully from his nap. He stirs against her and fusses, drawing her attention for a second as she tries to soothe him.

She looks up and brushes her hair behind her ear. “I- I’m fine.”

“Emma!” a voice calls, as if light piercing the darkness. It’s her mother, and she swears she’s never been happier to hear it in her life. “Emma! Emma! Oh, my baby!”

Emma turns, finding her parents moving through the crowd of reporters and bystanders. They’re anxious and relieved, both of them teary eyed and moving as fast as they can. Her father looks like he might hit a reporter or two for crowding her, but then again, so does her mom.

She gasps and tears find her eyes as she rushes toward them. She would run, but she has Henry in her arms and he’s still so little, so she just walks as fast as she can and when they meet, her parents both reach out to touch her as if they’re worried she isn’t real.

Emma knows the feeling. She finds herself overcome with the need to be held by them, to quell the feelings of fear and claustrophobia that have made her mind go entirely blank.

“Mom. Dad.” Emma says as she accepts their embrace.

“Oh, Emma, you’re here.” Her mother whispers. “You’re here.”

Her father is holding the back of her head and it’s comforting. It’s everything she’s wanted for a few weeks now, and to finally have it again makes her heart light in ways unexpected.

“Now, who’s this?” her father asks as they separate.

Emma smiles, looking at her little boy. He’s awake now, his cries stopped. He holds himself close to her, as if she’s a lifeline. The people surrounding them must not be his favorite thing either.

“This is Henry.”

She looks away after Henry takes her finger and smiles at her parents nervously.

“Emma, he’s so sweet,” Mary Margaret awes, reaching over and stroking over his hair. “How are you, Henry?”

Henry burrows closer to her and she smiles a little more. “We’ve had a really long day, haven’t we, buddy?” He whimpers a little. “Yeah.”

From around them, she feels the cameras burning into them, watching their reunion. Reporters are asking questions, she hears them ever so faintly, but thankfully they’re drowned out by Emma’s sheer relief to be with her parents again.

Her father has his hand already on the small of her back and she sighs, pressing her head against his arm a little.

“Emma, we brought someone with us.”

She hardly has time to register what her mother’s saying before she moves just a little and suddenly, Neal Cassidy’s walking toward her, a huge, happy, relieved grin on his face.

“Hey, Em.”

“Neal.”

He wraps his arms around her and she has no choice but to accept, with the cameras around, and when he pulls away, he turns his attention to the baby.

“Hey, dude,” Neal says with a kind smile. He looks up at Emma, who truly can’t believe her own eyes, that Neal would be here- that he’d be acting like a total hero and nice guy. “So he just… washed up with you?”

Emma nods dumbly. “Yeah. He…” She looks down at Henry, who stares up at her. “He washed up right next to me.”

“Wow,” Mary Margaret says breathlessly.

“He… came with a note.” Emma says. She reaches into her pocket, finding the note folded up. She shows it to her parents and they both read it tearfully.

“Well, it looks like we have a new baby, then, don’t we?” David asks.

Emma can’t help the tears that come. She’d been so worried about Killian that she hadn’t thought about what would happen when she came to shore with a missing baby in tow.

Her parents both wrap her up in a hug again before they walk with her away from the dock.

“I’ll get your bag, if you’d rather.” Neal says. Emma hands it to him and he handles it gently. He moves ahead of Emma and her parents, holding a hand upright. “Alright! Get out of the way!”

It works, blessedly, people moving out of their way as they move away from the ships and the water.

They reach a car that they climb into and Emma sits alongside her parents in the backseat, both of them seemingly not interested in separating from her for more than a car’s ride to wherever they’re going. She can relate, comforted by their warmth and gentle words as Neal drives them away from the ocean.

Emma stares at the water for as long as she can, just trying to adjust to the feeling of being on  _land_  again, much less make her peace with having left Smee and Killian behind. There’s so much going on that she isn’t sure where to put her focus.

From her lap, Henry coos and murmurs. He presses his head back against her chest and his fingers hold onto hers tightly. As much as her own parents are her comfort, she is his. It’s something that makes her stay stronger than she wants to be right now.

She leans her head against her father’s shoulder and he leaves a gentle kiss to her head.

“We’re going home now. It’s okay.”

“Are you hungry?” her mother wonders. She’s holding her arm with one hand while another brushes her damp and grimy hair behind her ear. “Should we stop for food?”

“Cheeseburger?” Neal suggests.

Emma’s stomach grumbles and she salivates at the suggestion. She nods. “A burger sounds amazing.”

Neal smiles softly at her in the rear view mirror and she smiles back.

He came all this way just to see her. It means something. What, she isn’t sure yet, but she knows that her ideas about Neal Cassidy are turned on their head. Much like pretty much everything else in her life at the moment.


End file.
